


Destiel Advent 2013

by Mapal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel Advent Calendar, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 44,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mapal/pseuds/Mapal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chapter per day for 25 days.</p><p>This year it's an AU based around stripper!Dean and cop!Cas, set in Boston, MA. Hope you enjoy it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First

   The nights were drawing in and the temperatures were dropping as December reared its ugly head, and Detective Castiel Novak was more than looking forward to ending his shift as he sat in the unmarked Boston PD car on a dimly lit street somewhere in district A-1, central Boston. He watched the clock on the dash tick over to December the 1st as midnight hit. He swore to himself all the time that he would never take late shifts again, and yet here he was. Freezing his ass off while he sat beside the most conversational partner he could have. That was sarcasm, by the way.

Uriel was surly and silent and Castiel spent most of his shifts with the larger man wondering what he could possibly have done in a past life to deserve this. Uriel was by the book and strict, completely lacking a sense of humour. Most of the time, Castiel was sure they were only stationed together because the men in charge thought it would be totally hilarious to put two biblical names together, as if that would mean they would get along. They did not get along.

They were monitoring suspected drug activity around a strip club. So far there was nothing unusual, but the night was just getting started where clubs were concerned. Both Castiel and Uriel were plain clothed vice detectives, and the more Castiel looked at the club they had to enter the more amused he became.

There was a specific clientèle entering the doors, queued up, and mingling with each other outside. There was the odd average male hanging around, the clearly straight guys trying to flex their masculinity, but they were queued with women generally. There was a bachelorette party waiting to go in with pink tiaras and fairy wings, already quite loud and tipsy, and then there were small groups of men, some making out with each other, some wearing little clothing for the time of year, some just messing around with each other as they waited.

It was male dancer night and Castiel smirked to himself as he sank down in his seat and watched as more customers were let in. Judging by the increasingly unimpressed look on his partner's face, Uriel had also noticed what was going on. This was bound to be six kinds of fun.

“Let's get going then, sweetheart,” Castiel said smoothly before slipping out of the driver seat and into the cold night air. He could hear Uriel grumbling to himself as he too exited the car and followed Castiel towards the queue. It was moving quicker now the club had opened its doors for its male dancer 'happy hour' and it didn't take long for them to reach the front.

The doorman was probably one of the biggest men Castiel had ever seen, with a neck thicker than a tree trunk and arms three times the size of his own. Castiel would have been intimidated if it weren't for the large, friendly grin on his face and the jovial way he greeted everyone. “Have a great night,” he wished them as he let them past to pay their entry fee.

Castiel could feel Uriel's unease growing and growing as they received a UV stamp on their hands after paying and were directed into the main part of the club. The music was loud and pulsating, the lights flashing and dancing around the room. It was dimly lit as any club would be and already starting to get busy.

Castiel was very aware he had a job to do here. The club, _Demonify_ , was suspected to be at the centre of a large drug trafficking ring. They had been sent there as part of the Boston Vice team to scope out the club and try to get close, to figure out exactly what was happening. The more information the better when it came to getting the rest of Boston PD involved in taking down the drug ring.

Everything looked pretty normal but the night was young and Castiel kept his eyes peeled as they ordered drinks and settled down at the bar. The lady who served them was young and pretty, with blonde hair tied back messily and soft, brown eyes. She was friendly and Castiel kept note of her for future information.

There was a series of whoops and whistles from the club floor as the music changed and a procession of men stepped out from the back of the club. They were all wearing the same uniform, a leather jacket on bare chests and a tight pair of black jeans, the one at the back of the line wearing a black Stetson too.

Castiel leaned on the bar as casually as he could as he watched the dancers take up their positions on the raised platform that ran through the club, a few hopping up on their own individual podiums around the floor. His eyes were drawn to the one in the hat who took his place right in the middle of the main platform, two men on either side of him. His face was hidden by the hat as he kept his head bowed but Castiel had to say his body was certainly something to behold.

Uriel was focusing his attentions elsewhere, chatting to another of the bar staff and blatantly ignoring the dancers, as Castiel took a sip of his drink and watched as the music dropped and the lights focused on the dancers. When the music picked up again, they started to move. Maybe Castiel was just the type to enjoy the scenery while on a job like this, but the dancers were actually quite good. He argued with himself that maybe the dancers would be a good way to get to the centre of the ring. That would be his excuse anyway.

The dancer in the hat finally looked up, long fingers lightly gripping the rim of the Stetson as he danced smoothly to the music. Castiel would later argue otherwise, but in that moment he completely forgot about his job. The dancer was mesmerising. His eyes were black from the contact lenses all the dancers wore and his face slightly shaded by the hat, but his face was possibly even more appealing than his body.

The detective managed to come to his senses enough to turn away from the dancers and back to the bar and Uriel, who was still talking to one of the staff. The man behind the bar seemed amused by Uriel's attempt at socialising and Castiel could read it all over his face: _you're just here to keep your gay friend company until he pulls_. He supposed that was the best cover they would manage with such a partnership in such a place.

“How often do you do these nights?” Castiel butted in, shouldering up beside Uriel and leaning both arms on the bar. The barman looked even more amused now and grinned. He was tall and looked like the cheesy type Castiel typically avoided, dressed in a low v-neck and tight jeans, his short, blond hair ruffled up.

“Once a week is male dancer happy hour,” he answered with a British accent, “but we have male dancers in every night with the ladies, we're what you might like to call... an _equal opportunities_ club.” If there wasn't the chance this was the centre of one of the biggest drug trafficking rings the city had ever seen, Castiel would say this would be a place he would probably come back to. Especially if the dancers were always this... entertaining.

A chorus of shrill cries and hollering turned Castiel's head back to the dancers, just in time to see them all whip off their leather jackets and throw them down to the platform at their feet. Hat guy had nice arms. He blanked out Uriel talking to the barman again as he watched the men dance. They were all talented and good looking, but his attention just kept going back to the man in the centre with his nice arms and nice face. Surely it wasn't legal to be that good looking. Maybe Castiel could arrest him, put him in cuffs for a while.

It was when the jeans were pulled off to reveal tight, silver briefs that Castiel's attention to anything else in the room was shot to pieces. He vaguely wondered if the people in charge realised it was a bad idea to send him into this sort of club on a night like this and expect him to focus. The men were just in boots and briefs, with the exception of the one who also had a hat.

He watched until the dancers went for a break. Uriel had apparently disappeared to investigate something further by that time, and Castiel shrugged it off and ordered another drink as he idly observed the dancers walk off towards the back of the club. It was dimly lit there where two large doors led through into what he could only presume was dressing rooms and the manager's office.

His attention was drawn to the lead dancer again, but this time it was not directed to his muscular body or the tight briefs that now had money stuffed into them. He was talking to a man who fitted the description he had been given for the club manager. He was shorter, a little more stout, and slightly balding. He had come to America from Britain just over 20 years ago, and in that time he had built an empire of clubs and bars across the city, now spreading into other cities. It was suspected he had built it all off the back of the drug ring he appeared to manage, but so far there wasn't enough proof for the case.

The dancer seemed to know him pretty well, talking to him for some time before receiving a pat to the back and heading through to the back. The doors swung closed behind him and the manager and Castiel started to formulate his plan. Maybe he was biased, but the dancer seemed like a good place to start his investigation. He would get clearance to continue his investigation and start to integrate himself into the club's clientèle. This wouldn't be his first drugs bust, but it could be his biggest, and he was very cautious about the best way to proceed. He had to find out if they were on the right track.

Uriel reappeared five minutes later as Castiel started another drink and chatted a little more to the young lady behind the bar. She was pleasant and talkative. He soon found out her name was Jo and he went under the alias of “Steve”. His name was too unusual, it could arouse suspicion. He found out the club was pretty new but was growing to be the jewel of the empire's crown, drawing in sell-out crowds every night due to its equal opportunity nature. The customers were a mix of men and women every night, of all sexualities, and apparently the dancers were of the same nature.

He tried to get more information about the lead dancer but she only laughed and said they'd all like to know more about him. Apparently he was quite the mystery but was a real character. She also revealed they offered private dances in the back, for a fee, and Castiel started to formulate his plan. If he was cautious enough, he could get some of the dancers alone and probe a little more into the background of the club.

Uriel was sat beside him, scouting the club, when Jo went back to her business to serve the bachelorette party further up the bar. “You'll be glad to know I have a plan,” Castiel muttered to him as he lifted his glass to his mouth.

“Please tell me it doesn't involve me,” Uriel ground out, his dark eyes stone cold as he surveyed the crowd. Castiel frowned and shook his head.

“No. It's starting to look like a solo mission anyway. I think I might be able to get close to some of the dancers and get some info from them, maybe find out a bit more about what the boss is like.” Uriel looked at him with those empty eyes and Castiel stared back at him blankly.

“And what am I supposed to do while you fraternise?”

“Don't be like that,” Castiel grunted, draining the last of his drink. “Intel says the boss moves around his clubs. You should follow him and learn his route, get to know who he socialises with and his business. I'll go deeper.” The dry laugh from Uriel nearly made Castiel lose his cool, but he slammed his glass down on the bar as an alternative.

“I'm sure you'll go deeper. You're right at home here, Castiel. Don't forget we have a report to write at the end of this mess,” Uriel warned in that usual condescending, slimy tone of his. Castiel slipped down from his stool and left a tip at the bar.

“You do realise we work for vice, right? I'm a professional,” he said coolly before making his way towards the exit. He had to report back to his boss with the plan of action.


	2. Second

   Dean woke some time around three in the afternoon, a strip of sun landing on his eyes around the dusty old curtains. He groaned and rolled over, peering at the clock on the table beside his bed from the safety of his comforter. He had finally crashed into his bed at around 9am, after a busy night at the club followed by some necessary grocery shopping for 'breakfast' before he slept.

There was one thing he was sure of as he ruffled his hair and blearily sat up, and that was that he did not want to be awake right then. He had work again that night and he had to be at the club for ten. He had to say it was not particularly his favourite job, but it paid well enough, which was all that mattered in the grand scheme of things. The hours really sucked and the clients were pretty awful, but Dean knew how to hold his own around them.

He was a pretty face and a nice body, and he had lost count a very long time ago of how many slimy men, and even women, had tried to take advantage. One lady had even insisted it was his _job_ to satisfy her. His only job was to dance. He was a stripper, not a prostitute.

His usual daily grumbles rattled around his head as he dragged himself from under the covers and pulled on the battered old dressing gown from the back of the door over his boxers and t-shirt. The apartment was chilly, the sky outside looking grey and miserable as he opened the curtains in the lounge. Winter, he hated it. It was cold and wet and downright miserable, and when it snowed in Boston it _really_ snowed. People went mad around Christmas, the stores rammed with customers trying to get the best bargain.

Dean guessed he would have to brave the crowds at some point. He had a few presents to buy and, he noticed as he opened the cabinet, he was running out of cat food for the jet black stray he had taken in a few months ago. He wasn't sure how their strange partnership had really happened considering he wasn't a cat person, but he was often glad of her company, and she appreciated his nocturnal habits as it allowed her to snooze in the window for most of the day.

She had never been officially christened but Dean liked to call her Jet, after her colour. Most people were amazed that he hadn't gone for some obscure character name from a sci-fi movie, but he felt like Jet just _suited_ her. She also had a habit of flying across the room at the worst moments.

Dean emptied a sachet of cat food into a dish and placed it down on the floor just as the cat came trotting into the kitchen to follow her nose and acute 'meal time' senses. “You eat better than I do,” he grumbled to himself. Dean actually hated cats, in fact he was generally allergic to them. They made him sneeze and sniffle and feel generally miserable, not to mention they acted like they owned the place. Jet, however, must have been hypo-allergenic because, for some reason, he had never had a reaction around her.

He had always thought she was some sort of demon or something, maybe she really was supernatural in some way. Maybe she was a witch. He pondered the possibilities of his evil cat as he poured himself some cereal and milk and leaned against the counter to eat it. He didn't have a lot to do before he went to work, so he decided to take his time and enjoy the afternoon in the comparable warmth of his dull little apartment.

If you were on a low wage you didn't really get anything nice to live in. It was damp and possibly a little mouldy, but he guessed it was home. It wasn't necessarily that being a stripper didn't pay well, because it did, it was just that it didn't pay _him_ well. After his boss had taken his cut and his tips had been taxed, and then the government had screwed him over with other various taxes and he had paid off a small chunk of medical fees, oh and then also paid the rent and the utility bills, there wasn't a lot left for him and Jet.

He guessed, at the end of the day, at least his job kept a roof over his head and kept him moderately well fed. He glanced down at the cat at his feet as she gobbled up her food greedily. She had been stick thin when he found her in the garbage out the back of the apartments. Someone had clearly dumped her. Her fur had been falling out and her bones were visible through her skin, she was too weak to even move in the trash, it would have been impossible for her to climb in there herself. Dean was never one to leave someone out in the cold, not even a cat.

The plan had been to take her to the vet and let the vet deal with it, but something tugged at him as he had cradled her in a blanket in the waiting room and she had curled into his heat. The plan changed to just helping her recover, getting medicine for her and feeding her up. After she had spent a few days at the vets on a drip and receiving flea treatment, he had picked her up and taken her home to help her get better. She had never left. Maybe she was sent to him to keep him company when no one else seemed to want him, and no one wanted her. They were outcasts together.

He finished breakfast and grabbed a shower before getting dressed and settling down on the beat up old couch to watch some TV for a while. He rarely got to relax, but today he had a clear schedule and he intended to make the most of a lazy Sunday afternoon. By that, he meant he would do next to nothing until it got near to his shift starting.

At around nine he hauled himself up from the couch, reluctantly unsettling the sleeping cat that had dozed off on his chest, and got ready to head out into the cold. It was scarf weather and he hated it. He grumbled to himself about the cold as he wrapped the fabric around his neck and buttoned his coat up before tugging on his shoes and grabbing his keys.

Jet was sprawled out on the warm spot of the sofa when he closed and locked the door behind him. At least she got to just laze around. As long as she was happy, he guessed. Dean headed down the stairwell of the apartment block. It was just as dingy as the apartments and he wouldn't like to guess what bodily fluids had stained the walls and carpet that could no longer really be called a carpet. His car was parked in the covered garage for the apartments, which was predictably not very desirable. He didn't enjoy parking his '67 Chevrolet Impala in such a horrific place, but he had no choice. The parking was free for tenants and he really couldn't afford to park her anywhere else.

The rumble of the engine was a relief to him, a break to the distant sounds of the city, the sirens and the car horns echoing through the streets. The Impala had a unique way of calming his mind and settling him, and he took great joy in just settling down in the driver seat and setting off for work.

One day he would have to go out for a drive, just for the sake of it, and maybe get lost somewhere. It had been a long time since he had really enjoyed the car, a 'gift' from his dad. It was the only thing his dad had really ever given him, and the last thing Dean had received from him before he had been cut from the family. Apparently male, non-heterosexual strippers were not welcome in such a family as the Winchester family. Even his brother was under strict orders to 'stay the hell away' from him.

Not that his brother particularly cared. Sam sometimes headed out to Boston to see Dean and cut communications with their father for a weekend. Christmas was a lonely time, however. He tried not to think too hard about it as he took to the streets, the yellow street lamps illuminating the world as he made his way to the club.

He was reluctant to leave the safety of the Impala as he parked up at the club and faced the cold again. It was quiet, early, and he was glad he didn't have to deal with many people as he made his way inside and to the changing rooms. They would give him his schedule for the night, tell him his duties, inform him of the dance numbers, and then leave him to get ready. It was like clockwork now.

It was always best to just go about your business at _Demonify_ and ignore the shady character the boss talked to, the odd men who would hang around near the exits and the clearly amped up dealers who went in and out of the back door quiet regularly. Dean had done his fair share of drugs in the past, he knew when someone was soaring high and most of those guys were _high_ , not to mention carrying duffel bags. It was so obvious it was painful but Dean kept his mouth shut. This was one job he couldn't afford to lose for being honest.

The night started slow as usual. He received all his tasks for his shift and got changed before heading to the podium to dance. He had an hour of dancing before he did two hours of private dances, got a break, and went back on the podium for the night. This was a club where everyone had to pull their weight in every way, even if they were a little bit of a star attraction.

Dean had been familiar with using his body for his own gain for a long time. It was only recently that he actually got into doing it legally, as a stripper. He had to say it was much more tasteful, and a lot more safe. The clientèle may have been a little unsavoury sometimes but they could have been a lot worse. Thank God for small mercies, he guessed.

He was on stage with a few other men and women that night and he gave it as much effort as he could manage. The nights were starting to drag, the cold weather and loneliness bringing him down. He was certainly aware that he was surviving and not actually _living_. By the time his hour was up he was already exhausted and dreading the rest of the night.

When he went through to the back to get set up for the private dances, he found a young woman with bright red hair up on a ladder as she fiddled with some cabling up near the ceiling. “Hey, Charlie,” Dean greeted from the bottom of the ladder. She looked down at him and flashed him a grin.

“Hey there, how's it going?” She was, as usual, totally unfazed by the silver pants and the generally naked nature of Dean. Charlie was certainly more interested in the scantily clad female dancers that were making their way through the corridors.

“Not too bad, just got some private ones to do. What's up?” Charlie gestured to the cables and sighed.

“Some sort of short, the lights in one of the back rooms keep flickering and Crowley says it just _has_ to be fixed right now or he's going to lose money. Not like _lamps_ aren't an option or something, _candles_ maybe, a bit of ambience, you know?” Dean snorted and nodded, starting to turn away.

“Well good luck with that, got work to do. See you later, Charlie,” he called up to her.

“Love you!” she sang after him.

“I know,” he returned with a laugh before disappearing into his room for the next two hours.

His first client was sleazy, a middle-aged, balding man with a sneer on his face and a very vague understanding of the words 'no touching'. Dean playfully slapped his hands away a few times, trying to tease the man instead of straight out punch him in the face and have to deal with the consequences after. Some people didn't seem to understand that this place was a strip club, not a brothel.

Dean rewarded the man for his _outstanding_ behaviour by pickpocketing him as he generously retrieved the man's coat from the hook and handed it to him. The fat wallet was easy to slip from the inside pocket and drop behind the large potted plant at the door. He later discovered it was only fat because of the amount of parking tickets stuffed in there, but at least the sleazy bastard would have to order a new ID.

The following three clients were a variety of pleasant gay men who just wanted to see a nice body dance for a while, and they were followed by a lady who was probably around fifty who wanted to see Dean's best moves. She appeared to have some money behind her, but she was actually pretty pleasant so Dean was polite in return. There was no point shitting on the people who didn't shit on him.

She was followed by a group of young girls on a birthday party who tipped heavily and a man who just wanted some company for a while, providing Dean a nice break where he could sit down and talk about trains for a while, or rather listen about the _wide_ variety of locomotives in America. The final private dance of the night was Dean's worst nightmare. He felt the feel of the room shift as the man entered, muscles bulging under his shirt and that dark, dominating look on his face.

Dean wasn't one to stereotype, but when he felt the dread settle in his stomach he knew this was the type of man he actively tried to avoid after his time on the streets selling his body to anyone who would pay a fair price. He was cautious as he politely asked the man to take his seat and asked what he would like. He ignored the “ _piece of that ass_ ” comment and put his music on. Wary and ready to defend himself at any moment.

He kept his distance throughout most of the performance, avoiding the freezing cold glare of the man for as long as he could. About five minutes towards the end of the session, the man lunged forward just enough to snatch Dean's wrist and hold _tight._ Dean snarled down at him, muscles immediately going taut and stance defensive. “No touching,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“And what you gonna do about it, huh?” the man growled as he stood. He was a good three inches taller than Dean and built like a bull, but Dean squared up to him none the less.

“Certainly not let you touch me.” As soon as the man moved to grab him with his other hand, Dean shifted his weight back and to the side, using the advantage of his momentum and a sweep of the leg to send the man falling to the ground like a tree. He landed with an 'oof' and a growl and Dean quickly put a knee to his back and pinned his arm behind him.

“Gerroff,” the man howled.

“What you gonna do about it?” Dean whispered in his ear, tightening his grip on the man's arm and pushing up, causing him to squirm and cry out. “Security!”

He smoothly removed the man's wallet from his back pocket before a security guard entered the room and took in the scene quickly. “He broke the rules, get him out, no refunds,” Dean ordered as he got up from the floor and left the security guy deal with the hulk. At least once a week someone tried to pull that shit and they were nearly all bigger than Dean, as if _that_ gave them any advantage.

Dean got on with the rest of his night without another hitch. The dances went smoothly, he didn't get into a fight on his break, and he didn't manage to piss off the boss like he often did. By the end of his shift he was exhausted and only managed a mumbled “goodnight” to Charlie as he passed her on his way out as she went about shutting down the equipment for the night.

He was greeted at home at 8am by an affectionate cat who quickly lost interest as he sleepily scratched her head in the lounge. At some point he managed to get changed and collapse into bed, falling into a glorious coma for most of the day. Rinse, repeat.


	3. Third

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I was sick yesterday and I had to decorate the living room today D: I'll try to get all caught up again!

   Castiel felt a lot lighter when he returned to the club. Maybe it was the lack of Uriel dragging along behind him, or maybe it was the sense that he had a plan in his mind. He knew what he was doing. Just gathering information, just testing the waters, just getting a little deeper. It was standard work and yet there was the gentle trickle of adrenaline through his veins as he entered the club on the Tuesday night. This was dangerous. Despite how simple it all sounded, he was dealing with dangerous people.

He had decided the best route to take was to pretend to be looking for a new dealer to work under. If he could pretend, just long enough, that he was willing to work on the streets then maybe he would get somewhere. His initial plan had been to pretend he wanted to buy drugs as a customer, but that hardly seemed believable. An average customer didn't infiltrate the lair of the big boss and meet him face to face.

Castiel was greeted with a smile as if the doorman remembered him when he got to the front of the much shorter queue. It seemed like the club had a steady flow of regular clientèle each night during the week. Some were greeted by name, others with a pat on the back. It was a vastly different set of people that night, the type of men you'd expect to see at a strip club and the odd small group of ladies clearly looking to unwind.

The non-straight men in the queue were hard to pick out, it wasn't like you could tell what a man liked just from the way he dressed, but they soon separated when they got inside to drift towards the podiums where male dancers were started to slowly dance to the music. There was also a selection of women going over to the female podiums and Castiel was gently amused by it. This really was a club of equal opportunities.

Castiel made his way over to the bar where he spotted a familiar face. Jo was working again that night, her blonde hair scooped back into a messy pony tail and a warm smile on her face. “Hey, you,” she greeted as he took up a seat on one of the stools. “What can I get you tonight?” He was baffled for a moment. She genuinely acted like she remembered him, out of all her customers.

“Just a whiskey please,” he answered with a smile, “do you actually remember me or is that just how you're supposed to act?” She laughed and reached under the bar for a glass.

“I never forget a pretty face,” she answered, taking a bottle from the shelf and pouring it into the glass. She was generous with the amount before sliding it to him. He regarded her closely for a moment before he placed his money on the bar.

“Keep the change, for the friendly service.” She took the money in her delicate fingers and beamed at him, putting what was owed in the till and taking out the change to put in the tip jar near the till.

Castiel was not below flattery and a little bit of financial bribery to get what he wanted. He had been called crafty and devious at times, but really he was just determined. It wasn't like he had anything else to spend his money on. He simply went home in the morning and spent time alone, watching TV or cleaning.

“Oh, Jo?” The woman turned back to him, leaning on the bar to show her attention. “Uh... how do I go about getting a private dance?” Her face cracked into a grin at his blatant awkwardness and she leaned over the bar towards him, directing his attention with her hand towards a surly looking man stood by the doors to the back.

“Talk to Benny, he'll sort you out,” she answered before heading down the bar to her next customer.

He quickly drank his whiskey to bolster his confidence before making his way towards Benny. He was leaning casually against the wall near the door, not particularly looking like a security guard but doing a perfect job of stopping anyone trying to go through who shouldn't be going through. His sharp eyes locked onto Castiel from a distance and watched him approach, his hairy, muscular arms crossed over his torso.

“Can I help you, friend?” he called to Castiel as he got within hearing distance. He nodded and went a little closer, waving a hand towards the bar.

“Jo sent me to you, for a dance,” he answered, squinting up at the other man. He wasn't particularly a lot taller than him, an inch or two at the most, but he was pretty intimidating.

“Well I ain't dancing for ya,” he drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips, “got your eye on anyone in particular?” Before Castiel could answer, the doors beside them opened and a few dancers came out, the one in the hat at the back of the line again. He felt something jolt in his stomach as he received a flash of white teeth and a tilt of the hat, and didn't realise he was staring until he heard Benny laugh. “The cowboy? Sure, I can hook you up with that one.”

They agreed on the terms, time and price and Castiel was sent away until his slot. He had maybe an hour to wait and decided to spend it sat at the bar watching the dancers and the workings of the club that he could see. It all seemed reputable and above board, but he knew there was more behind those doors and surely if he went deep enough he would uncover something. From the outside the building was huge, with three floors including the ground floor and possibly a basement, not to mention it went back a considerable way and had a parking lot at the back for staff. There was a lot to investigate and he would do as much as he could before handing over all the evidence to his boss.

'The Cowboy' was as entertaining as Castiel had expected. He wasn't a particularly dramatic dancer, but all of his movements were smooth and sensual, his hips keeping a constant, hypnotic rhythm. Castiel knew he had a job to do, but he couldn't stop the tremor of excitement that was building in him.

He watched the dancers until it got near to the time where he had to be at the doors with Benny. The rules ran through his head as he made his way through the light crowd. No touching, no kissing, no fucking. That was the general idea of it. As far as Castiel was concerned, it was just common decency but he guessed that not all clients were as well-mannered.

He was asked to wait by the door as the dancers left their podiums and headed through to the back. Benny informed him that his dancer would get set up in his room and that Castiel could go through in a few minutes. The anticipation was starting to bubble up, Castiel's hands trembling slightly in his pockets. This was just a job, something he had done many times before with female dancers. Why, then, did the idea of this man giving him a private dance give him the jitters?

He was ushered through after a short time and directed to the third door on the left. Castiel took in his surroundings, the long corridor painted a rich, dark shade of red with a smart cream carpet led to a junction with another corridor at the end. There were numerous, unlabelled doors down this single corridor with a couple of security guards down it for safety purposes. Castiel could see, however, two more security guards at the end guarding the other corridor. Apparently unauthorised personnel weren't allowed down there.

He wasn't sure what to expect when he went through the third door on the left, but it wasn't an empty room. He frowned for a moment, fingers still on the handle, before a door at the back of the room opened and the dancer stepped in, wicked grin on his face. “Well hey, handsome, why don't you shut that door and take a seat?”

Castiel's throat went dry. He was a professional, he wasn't supposed to be bothered by this, he should be able to perform under these conditions. And yet his palms were sweating and he was shaking like a teenager on his first date. He numbly followed the orders, sitting down on the plush red sofa in the middle of the room. He watched as the dancer turned on some music at the iPod dock on a table up against the wall, his hips starting to move gently as he scrolled through his playlist, eventually settling on something with a slow beat.

“You know the rules?” The dancer asked as he turned and started to move. Castiel nodded and swallowed hard. Up close, in the dim light of the private room, the man looked even more stunning than before. For a moment he started to question his life choices. Why on Earth had he decided that this was a good idea? Would he really be able to function? Maybe he was just being a bit selfish, making the most of the situation.

The dancer moved closer, black eyes locked intently on Castiel as he slowly slid off the leather jacket he was wearing to reveal his tanned torso. “I uh... I was actually wondering if you could give me some information?” The dancer paused for a moment and gazed at him, dropping his jacket to the floor.

“Information?” he seemed cautious, shoulders going a little tight.

“About... the other side of business here,” he muttered. The dancer glanced edgily at a camera in one corner of the room, disguised enough for most customers but Castiel had already noticed it when he sat down.

“I... well... sure, I guess, maybe, but I gotta keep dancing because they don't know you and if I ain't dancing then I don't get paid, alright? You're not like these sad sons-of-bitches who come here for a damn chat, the guys know 'em by name, they get away with that shit and I still get paid but they won't like it if we do that here.” He kept his voice low as he started to move again. Castiel nodded and sank a little lower in his seat.

“I'm interested in being a business partner. I just cut ties from another guy I'm looking to get back into the market,” he explained. The dancer moved closer teasing at the top of his jeans with his fingers, toying with the button.

“It ain't my business what they do behind the scenes here, but I can tell you that not many new guys get taken in so easily,” he murmured, stepping even closer to Castiel and popping open the button on his jeans. He was enthralled, staring at the way those long fingers unfastened the jeans and teased at the waist band again.

“Then how... how do I get in?” Castiel was starting to lose concentration, tearing his eyes away to look up at the dancer, who was looming over him with those dark eyes and a teasing grin on his face, one hand on the arm of the sofa.

“Well that's for you to figure out. Having some trouble there?” His eyes may have been completely black, but Castiel would put money on him glancing down at his crotch. Yes, he was having trouble.

“Nothing I can't handle,” he answered, purposefully spreading his legs a little more. The dancer licked his lips and slowly pushed his jeans down, revealing silver underwear once again underneath. “How much?” he asked quietly, leaning up a little towards the dancer, his own blue eyes locked onto those empty, black pools.

“For?” They were inches away and the dancer's jeans were hanging low around his hips, the glimmer of bulging silver almost distracting Castiel.

“A way in.” The dancer smiled crookedly and reached forward to press a hand to Castiel's shoulder, using him as a prop as he pushed his jeans down with his other hand.

“A generous amount. I got a couple of days off, come back Friday night with two hundred dollars and I'll see what I can do.”

“Two hundred?” Castiel narrowed his eyes.

“Trust me, if you get in I'm sure you'd make that back in a night.” Castiel nodded and the dancer released his grip on his shoulder. “Just ask for a dance from The Cowboy, they'll set you up.”

Castiel had what he wanted for now and settled down to watch the rest of the dance he had paid his own money towards. It turned out to be worth it. The Cowboy was a smooth, hypnotic dancer and Castiel found himself struggling to resist the urge to touch him many times. It was dangerous and he had to remain professional, but he had to enjoy himself sometimes, right?

What did it particularly matter if he had to go home and take all that frustration out in the shower?


	4. Fourth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! Late again! Sorry ;-; I'm super sick and ugh... busy too.  
> I WILL get on top of this!  
> Enjoy :)

   Castiel often dreaded these days. It was the days where his brother would call and say he was coming around, and Castiel would have to make himself look decent and drag himself out of the house to entertain Gabriel. Apparently they had Christmas plans to discuss, not that they ever really did anything for Christmas.

He smartened himself up at about 11am, still feeling exhausted and drained from the night before. He had bags under his eyes from the late shifts. He looked pretty much like crap, or totally like crap, and he was too tired to really care about it. He pulled on a dark blue shirt and left it loose over his jeans, ruffling his hair a little in front of the bathroom mirror before deciding he looked good enough.

He was just leaving the bathroom when the apartment buzzer for the door went off. Gabriel was early, he must have been excited about bothering him that day. He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. He wasn't a fan of letting people into his home, Gabriel knew that. Gabriel didn't particular care, but Castiel did his best to keep him out. He took the stairs down the three floors from his top-level apartment, always quicker than the elevator.

“Hey, bro,” he said cheerily as Castiel opened the door to the street. He looked as he normally did, dressed in clothes that were too big for him with something sweet in his hand, in this case it was a Christmas candy cane. “They were giving these out up the street and I mean, how could I resist, right?” He gestured down to his jacket pocket and Castiel noticed the bundle of red and white canes sticking out. He raised an eyebrow in question but his brother only grinned around the candy in his mouth.

“I'm sure there are children who would love some candy canes too,” Castiel muttered as they started to walk away from the apartment building. Gabriel snorted and crunched down on the stick.

“Yeah I'm sure too, and they'll get some, there are thousands of them so I just grabbed a couple of handfuls. Maybe four handfuls. Who really cares, right?” Castiel rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets. It was cold enough for his breath to cloud on the air but Gabriel didn't really seem to care, as usual.

He was quite a bit shorter than Castiel and never seemed to wear much more than his beat-up, old, green jacket over his clothes. Sometimes Castiel would see him in a black coat too but that was when there was a blizzard blowing down their doors. His family frowned at Gabriel as if he was unnatural and Castiel, for once, had to maybe agree with them.

Castiel's family was large and pretty distanced, and Gabriel was one of the few who kept in touch. He was certainly the only one who regularly visited and spent time with him. Despite his odd habits, he was nice to sit and talk to. It was a break from the hours upon hours of sitting in a car with Uriel, or trying to strike up conversation in the offices, or trying to worm his way into a drug den of some description.

They walked a block over to a small coffee shop on a street corner, with seats outside that were empty for the majority other than a few people smoking cigarettes in the very fresh air. Castiel was glad of the warmth of the shop and the large, soft leather seats that he could sink into. It had a homely feel to it, something that maybe his apartment was lacking. He guessed he could be described as obsessive compulsive, with everything spotless and in its right place. Really, he just liked order. Order kept the world ticking over for him. Rules and direction were incredibly important.

They ordered their drinks, a caffè medici for Gabriel and a cappuccino for Castiel, before Castiel finally got to sink into those seats. “Have you heard from dearest daddy lately?” Gabriel started the conversation like a mallet to a watermelon. Castiel winced a little and shook his head, fiddling with a little wooden stirrer on the table between them.

“No, I don't talk to him that much,” he answered honestly. Their father was a preacher in Texas and Castiel tried to ignore his presence as much as possible. Come to think of it, that was probably why he and Gabriel got along. They were both rebels, at least in their father's eyes. He wasn't a particularly strict man, but he was disappointed that they had both 'forsaken' religion and gone their own ways. Gabriel had gone a little less conventional than even Castiel and owned a cake shop on the outskirts of Boston. Apparently it was successful and he was using it to 'woo' a lovely lady. So very Gabriel it actually hurt.

Gabriel took his drink from the lady who brought it over and placed it on the table, looking at it eagerly as Castiel took his own and prodded it with the wooden stirrer. “Probably a good job, he tried calling me again to see if I'd go to one of his sermons,” Gabriel muttered before taking a sip of his coffee. Castiel huffed and added sugar to his own.

“What, in Texas?” Gabriel nodded and reclined.

“Like I even have the time to travel all that way, right?” He thoughtfully sipped his drink. “Maybe he's trying to convert me back so he can have the great archangel Gabriel beside him as he preaches.” Castiel chuckled at that, shaking his head and drinking from his own mug.

“I really don't think you live up to your namesake,” he grumbled, earning himself a sharp kick to the shin under the table.

They scowled at each other for a moment before Gabriel leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and fingers cradling his warm mug. “So, Cassie-”

“Don't call me that,” he interrupted, raising his eyebrows at his brother until Gabriel relented and rolled his eyes.

“So, _Castiel_ , is there a lovely lady in your life yet?” Gabriel watched him intently as he shook his head and stared down into his drink, the froth on top bubbling gently. “Really? No one?” Again he shook his head. “Not even a man?” At that, Castiel looked up at him sharply. He felt a light flush go to his cheeks, his mind immediately leaping to the previous night and the intimate dance he had received.

Gabriel sat back, smug and successful. “A man, really?”

“No,” Castiel said sternly.

“There's nothing wrong with that, bro. If men are what you like then-”

“I don't need the equality talk from you,” Castiel interrupted again, drinking his coffee moodily. “There is no man in my life, no woman either, no one.”

“Why not?”

Castiel had to ponder the question. Why not? Why was he secluded and single? He hadn't chosen a life of celibacy willingly, it had just happened. It wasn't like he even particularly cared. He always had the view of 'if it happened, it happened' and lately it just hadn't really happened. He may have been... slightly adventurous in bed, he may have still had a sex drive, but no one particularly interested him.

“Not found the right person, I guess,” he answered with a small shrug, the best way to summarise the conflict of feelings inside him. Again his mind flashed back to The Cowboy and he flushed large amounts of boiling hot coffee down his throat to distract himself.

Gabriel thankfully let the subject drop and they sat in silence for a little while before discussing their sister, Anna, and her endeavour to join the air force. She just wanted to fly, and yet she had discipline and stamina. They all thought she would do well, their father did not approve. After they danced around the subject of their brother, Michael, who was a pretty serious businessman in New York now, Gabriel finally breached the subject of Christmas.

“So, what are we doing for Christmas?”

Castiel sighed and swilled the last of his coffee around as Gabriel looked at him expectantly. “I don't know, usual I guess. Dinner at mine, presents, crappy TV,” Castiel said as he shrugged. Gabriel accepted his answer with a shrug of the mouth before he drained his coffee.

“I'm sure we can make it more interesting,” he mused as he put his mug down. Castiel eyed him cautiously.

“Interesting?”

“Yeah, interesting.” Castiel finished his coffee quickly as Gabriel stood.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You'll see.”

Fantastic.


	5. Fifth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

    Dean was just finishing cleaning out Jet's litter tray when the apartment buzzer sounded. He frowned and lifted the phone for the intercom. “Yeah?” he said gruffly, looking down at the bag of dirty litter in his hand.

“ _Dean, it's me._ ” He startled a little at his brother's voice, staring at the phone blankly. “ _Will you let me in already? It's fucking freezing out here_.”

“Yeah, sure, sorry,” he muttered as he pressed the door release and the phone clicked off. He left the bag of litter in the kitchen and tidied up the sofa a little before there was a knock at his door. He guessed the place could have looked worse for an impromptu visitor. It was still mouldy and a little grubby but it had always been like that.

Sam was as intimidating as Dean remembered him. He was about the size of a door and with a mop of dark hair that Dean just wanted to grab with a pair of scissors. “Heya, Sammy,” he mumbled with a grin before his brother embraced him tightly, squishing the air from his lungs. Sam was about the size of a bear, so he guessed bear hugs came pretty easy to him.

“Hey, Dean,” he greeted warmly when he finally let go. He followed Dean into the apartment, hands in his pockets.

“What brings you out this way?” Dean called as he headed to the kitchen and rummaged in the fridge for a second, reappearing with a couple of cans of soda.

“I was passing by, actually. That and dad said I should never visit you again,” Sam said with a smirk as he took his drink from Dean and cracked it open.

“Like that'd stop you,” Dean laughed. Sam and Dean had been extremely close since they were young and their dad used to go on long 'business' trips that were really just hunting trips, leaving them along with 'uncle' Bobby. Dean had to say he preferred those times to the times his dad would be home and drunk.

“Yeah, well I guess he thinks one day I'll listen to him.” Sam took a sip from his drink and took up a seat on the couch as Dean motioned to it. Dean quickly shooed Jet from her spot before sitting down with his brother.

“How's the old man doing, anyway?” Dean grumbled as he propped his feet up on the coffee table. Sam shrugged, sinking down in his seat and fiddling a little with the can in his hand.

“Same, really. He thinks you've been taken over by a demon or something and he's angry I'm not going into car sales, so not a lot's changed.” Sam gazed down at his drink and the room was filled with silence other than the gentle pop of carbonated soda as Dean nodded thoughtfully.

“He doesn't want you back for Christmas,” Sam added after a few minutes of silence. Dean sighed and rolled his eyes a little.

“As if that's a surprise.”

“So I don't want to go back either,” he finished. Dean frowned at his brother and pulled his feet off the coffee table, angling himself so he was facing Sam a bit more.

“Don't do that, dad'd kill you,” Dean said, making Sam shrug.

“I'm just tired, Dean. I just wanna do what I want, without being judged.”

“Yeah but he's already not talking to one of us, and trust me that sucks,” Dean argued, taking a few gulps of his drink.

“So? It's better than being told I'm a failure because I went to college or a fuck up because I stay in touch with you. He calls you a hooker, y'know?” It was Dean's turn to shrug. He had been called many things in his time, and technically he used to be a hooker. He guessed there were worse things to be, like homeless.

“He calls me what I want. The old man ain't got much time left the way he's drinking and acting like he's invincible.” Sam nodded in agreement at that and they fell into comfortable silence for a few more minutes.

“So how _is_ work going?” his brother finally managed to ask. Dean laughed a little and quirked an eyebrow. Considering there was clearly a cop sniffing around and that could mean the end of his job, things were going pretty well.

“As you'd expect. Tips are pretty lousy once Mr. Crowley takes his cut, but it pays the bills.” Sam nodded and stared down at his hands.

“I could help with those,” he offered. Dean shook his head. It wasn't the first time his brother had offered to help with the bills, but it was just the kind of help he couldn't accept. “No really, I mean I'm fresh out of college but I earn enough. Dean, c'mon.”

Dean didn't even bother to think about it. He knew his answer would always be no. It wasn't Sam's job to support him, it was his job to support Sam. All this talk of paying bills was ridiculous. His little brother was better off than he was, but that was because Sam was smarter. At least, that was how Dean saw it. Sam had the brains to go to college and make something of himself, Dean was an outcast fending for himself. Sometimes he wished he had stuck it out and gone to college, but others he was a little glad he didn't. It wasn't the thing for him, cooped up in a classroom learning things that may not help him in the future.

Sam sighed in defeat and rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling. “Why won't you accept help?”

“Because I shouldn't,” Dean muttered. There was no arguing it. He knew he would never budge.

They talked a bit longer, Sam asking about what Dean did at work and Dean finding out more about how Sam was making it as a lawyer in New York. They must have been talking for about an hour before Sam hesitated and cleared his throat. “I was uh... wondering if you wanted to go see mom, after Christmas maybe,” he offered quietly. Dean stopped what he was doing completely and stared at his hands.

Their mother was buried in Kansas, since she had died when he was four. It had been a house fire, and the deterioration of their whole family. At least Sam couldn't remember when things had once been happy, but Dean could. Dean remembered more than he would like to. Thinking about his mother was painful, and heading down to see her grave would be even more painful.

“I dunno, Sammy,” he mumbled, putting his empty can on the coffee table after he had been fiddling with it for a good thirty minutes. “It's a long way to go.”

“When was the last time you went?” Sam's voice was quiet, cautious. Dean couldn't remember the last time he had been down there. Or rather, he could but he refused to admit it. It had been three years ago, just before he had taken up selling himself on the streets. He didn't think he was particularly worthy of sitting at his mother's grave any more. He shrugged off Sam's answer and his brother let it drop, thankfully.

After that, Dean was actually a little glad when Sam took his leave and decided to head out. Apparently he was visiting college friends who lived in the area and that was the reason he was in Boston. Dean was sure he should have been offended about something there but he was too drained to think about it.

The truth was, he wondered what his mother would think of him. There was no doubt that he wouldn't have been in that situation if she had still been alive, but he wondered if she was up there looking down and frowning upon him. Was he really a disgrace? He was confident in his body, he knew how to use it, but did that really mean he _should_ use it like that?

His thoughts were in turmoil as he sank back down onto the sofa and Jet took back her position next to him. He guessed all he could do was enjoy a night off and not try not to think about it too much, as if that was possible.


	6. Sixth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so late!

   Castiel would deny that he put more effort in that night. He would deny that maybe he used a little aftershave and maybe he'd ironed his shirt a little better. He totally, without a doubt, had not polished up his shoes and actually tried to tame his mess of dark hair. Something about that night felt different and he entered the club with a sense trepidation. It was all pretty normal, the same thumping music playing but with a heavier crowd of people considering it was a Friday night.

He made a direct path towards Benny at the doors to the back corridors and was greeted with a dry, knowing smile. “Well hello, brother. Back for more?” he called over the music in his bizarre southern drawl. Castiel nodded and reached for his wallet, which was heavy with the money the dancer had asked for.

“Yeah, same again,” he confirmed. Benny didn't go over the rules this time, taking Castiel's money and giving him a time to be back at the door. He went through his usual routine of ordering a drink and watching the dancers until it was time, his nerves trembling for some reason. This was a job. This was what he did for a living. He couldn't afford for his own desires to get in the way.

Castiel had been working vice for a few years, and in that time he had earned himself the reputation of doing his job exceptionally well. He had one of the highest success rates in his department and, if he was on a job, he would make sure it got done. To be even slightly compromised on a job was unheard of for him.

He made himself aware of his surroundings as he waited, keeping an eye on the staff and noting all of the possible exits he could see. If this club was the front for a drug ring, it was a convincing one. Other than the male dancers and the varied clientèle, it was just like any other club. Castiel kept an eye on the doors through to the back as he sat, and even there it looked pretty normal. He decided to check out the back of the exterior of the club later on, as discretely as he could. Maybe there was another entrance.

The time for the private dance seemed to come too fast. It was all a blur until he found himself sat on the sofa in one of the performance rooms with The Cowboy stood in front of him with a smug grin on his face. It seemed he too had gone a little more extravagant that night and was wearing assless chaps with those tight silver underpants underneath and his black leather jacket. “Well then, look at you, all scrubbed up,” he teased as he idly pressed play on his iPod.

Castiel snorted in indignation and shrugged off his own jacket before sinking down on the sofa. He wasn't going to rise to the taunts. “I already paid for the dance,” he said as he rested back and threw his arms to either side of him across the back of the sofa.

“That you did. How fat is your wallet tonight?” The Cowboy moved closer and started to move to the music, hips rolling annoyingly, seductively.

“Fat enough,” Castiel answered calmly, trying not to swallow around the dryness in his throat. The Cowboy raised an eyebrow at that, dark eyes glinting in the dim light as he grinned and teased at his jacket before leaning in dangerously close, his breath hot against Castiel's ear.

“Well, guess you'll be looking for that way in, then,” he murmured. It went straight to Castiel's dick. He let a small, predatory growl rumble in his throat to warn the other man off, but didn't move, stubbornly sticking to the rules.

He was being teased and taunted and maybe it was a bit of a turn on. He had work to do, he had a job that needed finishing, he- screw it all, the man's arms were amazing. Castiel let his eyes sweep over them as the jacket was removed and thrown to the floor. One foot was placed on the sofa to the side of him as The Cowboy leaned in until he was just inches away from Castiel's face. “I'm sure we can arrange something that works for both of us,” he purred.

“I thought two hundred dollars worked pretty well for you,” Castiel bit back. He was tutted at that and felt long fingers slide up his throat press against the underside of his chin.

“I ain't no hooker, sweetheart. And I'm not that cheap.” He moved away smoothly again and returned to dancing, running his fingers along the top of the chaps.

Castiel glared at him darkly, fingers gripping at the back of the sofa. He was painfully aware of the erection he was sporting but refused to pay any attention to it by readjusting. All he did was roll his hips just a little, legs spread out, just to emphasise the prominent bulge in his pants. The Cowboy glanced down before turning with a grin on his face and teasing Castiel by running his hands over his own ass and then up his sides.

“What else do you want?” Castiel asked, keeping his glare stern and steady.

“A favour, some time. Don't know when, don't know what. This isn't an easy ring to get into, y'know, I'm putting a lot at risk here.”

“How are you at risk?” He ignored the way The Cowboy's hips swung side to side smoothly. It was a little more difficult to ignore him when he turned again and crowded right into his space, easily straddling his lap. He grabbed Castiel's chin firmly to hold his head in place and brought his lips close to his ear again.

“I know what you are, cop,” he whispered, “I'm only doing this 'cause you're good lookin' and maybe I don't like the way some of the staff are treated, that and I guess I've got morals.” Castiel felt his stomach plummet. Was he really that obvious? The Cowboy rutted down against him sharply and tightened his grip on Castiel's jaw. “I'll probably lose my job 'cause you can't let a few dumb kids do drugs, but one of those dumb kids could be a kid I know so I guess I'm on your side. But one day, you'll owe me.”

He was clearly dealing with someone who was pretty conflicted. On one hand, the guy clearly needed his job. Giving a cop a way into a drug ring could be a way to lose that job pretty quickly. Yet it seemed he also had a sense of morals and didn't appear to like working for a drug lord. “Deal,” he said quietly, turning his head a little in The Cowboy's hand so he could mumble against his ear, “and if you carry on I've got handcuffs in the car.”

That drew a low, rumbling laugh from the other man and he finally dismounted. “Maybe another day. Hand over that cash, let's see if I can get you in,” he ordered, hand held out for the money. Castiel obliged, standing up from the sofa and fishing for his wallet from his back pocket. He had handed over the money and they were just about to leave the room when The Cowboy stopped and turned, firmly pressing a hand to the painful erection in Castiel's pants. “Want me to deal with that first?”

“I thought you weren't a hooker?” Castiel breathed out in retort, standing steady and not moving, eyes fixed on those artificial black pools.

“I'm not,” was the answer, a wide, dirty grin spreading onto the man's face.

“I have work to do,” Castiel growled, shoving his hand away and motioning for him to lead on.

It was a little nerve-racking, being led down the corridor towards the security guards. He let The Cowboy do most of the talking, only piping up to answer the questions he needed to. He was frisked before being let through, still following the dancer. They went up two floors in an elevator and then headed down a shabby looking corridor until they reached an old wooden door at the end, Castiel's raging erection finally leaving him in peace. Yes, it had made the frisking a tiny bit awkward. _No, that's absolutely not a gun in my pants._

The dancer was the one who knocked, and a British voice replied on the other side of the door to tell them to enter. The room was quite large with an ornate wooden desk stood in front of a barred up window. The wallpaper on the walls was green in colour and peeling, and there were bare wooden floorboards beneath their feet. Castiel was a little surprised to see that the suspected drug lord was the only one in the room, sat behind the desk with papers in front of him. He was reclined a little in his seat with an expectant look on his face.

“Yes?” he asked gruffly. The Cowboy cleared his throat and rocked on his feet a little, the first sign of nerves Castiel had seen from him.

“This guy wants in,” he said simply. Apparently it was enough. He was waved out, leaving Castiel along with the man, Crowley.

Crowley regarded him for a moment, tapping the tips of his fingers together, before rocking forward and frowning a little. “You don't look like an addict.”

“I'm not,” Castiel answered promptly, “I don't believe in using up the goods. I sell, I don't use. I don't like to be a liability.” His words seemed to please the man, his head nodding gently in approval.

“A good work ethic. I could use someone like you. What are your credentials?”

“Used to be a cop, got busted for dealing. Served under _Lucifer_ for a few years but I'm sure you heard he's gone.” Crowley nodded and Castiel continued. “So I'm looking for a new handler.”

Crowley stood from his seat and slowly moved around his desk. “What did you deal?”

“Anything I was given to sell,” he answered dryly, not cowering in the man's presence. He didn't want to look like someone who was fearful. He wanted to be respected, and to be respected he needed to have balls.

“When can you start?” Crowley was right in front of him now, looking up at him with his pale eyes.

“As soon as you'd like.”

Crowley nodded and slowly moved away again, hands clasped behind his back. “Gonna have to do a background check.”

“Of course. Steve Rogers.”

The look of disbelief he received was almost enough to shake him. “That's funny,” Crowley said darkly.

“It's hilarious,” Castiel corrected, “and I used to be a cop.” Crowley did laugh a little at that, moving to the desk to scrawl ' _background check on Captain America_ ' on a piece of paper. It was his cover name and his alias for this job, any calls to the police would reveal just enough information to confirm what he had told Crowley.

“Alright, get out of here. I want to see you back here on Monday, ten on the dot,” Crowley ordered.

“Thank you, sir,” Castiel said politely before turning to leave.

“Keep America safe, Captain, we would hate for it to descend into anarchy and fall apart,” Crowley called after him.

Castiel finished his night by scouting the outside of the club. He casually strolled around the back and observed a different sort of clientèle hanging around in the alley where the trash was put out for collection. Most of them were clearly high on something and were milling around as if waiting for a signal to do something. To anyone who didn't know, it looked like a group of addicts loitering in an alley, but Castiel could bet that this was part of Crowley's empire. It looked pretty pathetic to him. No wonder Crowley had taken so well to his attitude and appearance.

He was glad when he could head home and grab a hot shower, taking out his frustrations while he was at it, before collapsing into bed. He felt exhausted and his head was pounding, and sleep found him quickly that night. He would deny dreaming of a sexy cowboy.


	7. Seventh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luckily this was beta read because I'm sicker than a dog and my head feels like a truck hit it.  
> Enjoy!

   Castiel guessed it was best to sort a few presents out for his family if he didn't want to be defined as a total outcast that year. He found himself staring blankly into shop windows in the middle of Boston, enough money to buy a few decent things but no idea what he could possibly get for his dad and siblings.

He was just debating if Anna would like jewellery when he heard a familiar voice just behind him. “Hey, funny seeing you here.” He was used to hearing the voice heavy with lust and a sultry tone, but it clicked with him immediately that The Cowboy was stood right behind him. He span around to find the other man grinning at him, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. The first thing that struck him was the colour of his eyes. As soon as Castiel made eye contact, he realised this was the first time he had actually seen him without demonic contact lenses in.

They were green. Unnaturally green. Castiel wondered, for a moment, how that shade was even possible. “I, uh... hey,” was all he could manage. The man grinned wider and reached out to nudge him in the arm.

“Never thought I'd see you tongue tied, you always seemed to have a clever mouth,” he said with a small laugh. Castiel involuntarily broke into a smile and looked away.

“You took me by surprise,” he chuckled.

“Shopping for presents?” He moved up beside Castiel and looked into the shop window. In the daylight he looked even more attractive, not that Castiel had thought that was even possible.

“Yeah, no idea what to buy, though,” he mumbled with a shrug. There was too much variety, a world of objects and things that people might like. It was too cluttered and busy, too complicated and full of useless stuff.

“How about I get you a coffee, get us warmed up, and then I'll give you a hand? Apparently I'm good at this,” the dancer offered as he peered at the jewelled necklaces.

Castiel regarded him, dubious, for a moment before nodding slowly. What was the worst that could happen? The man led the way up the street towards a coffee shop, hands still in his pockets. “I'm Dean, by the way,” he said as they got a bit further up the street, “and don't go tellin' me your name is Steve, that one's pretty easy to see through.”

“Not too easy, I hope,” Castiel muttered as he walked beside Dean, his hands in his own coat pockets. “My name's Castiel.” This was met by a low whistle and a raising of the eyebrows.

“Well I see why that doesn't work undercover. Biblical, right?” Dean said as he pushed the door to the coffee shop open and held it to let Castiel through.

“Yeah, dad thought it'd ensure that I followed him into the church. Didn't really work out for him,” Castiel answered with a shrug as they made their way over to the counter to order their drinks.

Dean went with a mocha and Castiel asked for his usual cappuccino. They were instructed to go take a seat and their order would be 'brought right over', which normally meant at least a ten minute wait, but Castiel wasn't particularly bothered. He seemed to have good company that day. Dean was charming and a lot more well-mannered out of the club. Castiel found himself watching him a lot. Dean had been fascinating to him before, but the light of day just seemed to make him all the more captivating.

“So what are you doing in town?” Castiel asked as he idly played with one of the paper napkins on the table. Dean shrugged and took a napkin too, starting to fold it.

“Just getting some fresh air, really. Got a crummy apartment not far away so thought I'd take a walk. People don't do that enough nowadays, right?” Dean talked away as he folded the napkin slowly, his movements deliberate. Castiel nodded in agreement as he watched Dean's long fingers at work. Their drinks were delivered surprisingly quick, just as Dean finished his spontaneous origami to reveal a napkin crane that he placed in the middle of their table.

“Don't you find this a little weird?” Castiel asked after a few moments of easy silence as he sipped his coffee. Dean raised an eyebrow at him in question as he poured a couple of sachets of sugar into his drink and stirred it in. “Just... sitting having coffee, considering how we normally... socialise.” Dean didn't seem too bothered, shrugging with one shoulder as he sucked the coffee from the stirrer, in an all too brief and provocative manner.

“We both have jobs,” Dean answered simply. “I take my clothes off and you find out what my boss is up to.”

Castiel stared down at his coffee for a minute as he thought. Dean had been so quick to figure him out. It was probably the quickest anyone had ever worked out what he really was while he was on a job. “Was I really that obvious?” Castiel asked quietly, taking a sip from his drink. Dean shook his head.

“Nah, not to most people. I just know how to spot a cop. Wasn't a good idea to try and pick one up on the streets, y'know?” Dean explained in a lowered tone. Castiel nodded in silent understanding but said nothing. It wasn't his place to judge Dean for what he had done in the past. He was making a more honest living now, he guessed that was a good thing.

“So how does it pay now? Any better?” Castiel asked curiously. Dean laughed at that and shook his head a little, toying with the crane on the table.

“Not really. I only do it 'cause it's a little more honest than what I used to do. I have to make up the difference myself,” he said without making eye contact. Castiel became more curious, leaning forward a little with his hands clasped on the table.

Dean looked at him steadily, their eyes locked for what seemed like ages before he sighed and leaned back. “I maybe steal a few fat wallets, y'know the ones who try to touch or try to take advantage. Those assholes who don't need the cash they're carrying and are probably cheating on their wives and tryin' to do it again but with a dude,” he muttered. Castiel nodded in understanding again and looked away, glancing out towards the windows to the street outside.

“I take it Crowley doesn't pay well,” Castiel probed gently, glancing back to Dean for a moment before drinking his coffee. The dancer shook his head and sighed.

“He's more focused on what goes on behind the club. We're just a façade, that's the word, right?” Dean looked at Castiel expectantly and he nodded in confirmation. “We get lousy pay just to be the face of his dirty shit. He takes his cut, even from the tips we get. I can't afford the rent sometimes so I get a little help from those who can.”

“I understand,” Castiel said quietly as he sipped his coffee, gazing at the crane. It was neatly folded and quite fascinating. For a piece of napkin art, it was standing up remarkably well. “What's he like otherwise?” He figured he could use a little more information if he was going to bring this guy down, and Dean seemed a lot more co-operative away from the environment of the club.

“Asshole, really. Always out for what's best for him, doesn't really give a shit who he steps on. I mean I know I'm a piece of shit anyway but he'll act like he just stepped on me and can't get me off his shoe,” Dean grumbled. Castiel felt slightly uneasy at Dean's words, wanting to say something encouraging but not feeling like it was his place.

“You seemed pretty friendly with him the other night, last Sunday,” he pushed, wrapping his fingers around his mug.

“He's friendly when he wants me to schmooze a big wallet,” Dean corrected, “when he wants me to put on a pretty performance and get a big tip. Asked me to go further once, but that life's behind me. As I said to you, I'm no hooker. Not any more.”

They sat in silence again for a while, but it was comfortable and Castiel found it mildly entertaining to watch Dean fiddle with the crane until it was perfect and then start to rip parts out of another napkin to make a snowflake for the crane to sit on. They finished their coffees peacefully before heading back out to the streets so Dean could help Castiel with his shopping.

The dancer proved to be a valuable asset when it came to Christmas shopping. He helped Castiel find a nice present for his sister, Anna, who was training for the air force and would like something practical. Dean suggested not to go with jewellery, and they found her a nice, decorative Swiss army knife instead, with silver inlay on the handle.

Castiel talked about his family as they wandered, helping Dean profile them a little more and pick out nice presents. In return he found out a bit more about the mysterious Cowboy. He lived alone, he had a brother, and his father appeared to hate his very existence. Dean told him about how he grew up in Lawrence, Kansas, until he was four. His mother had died in a house fire, and then they had travelled the country with his father, before his brother went to college to study law and Dean just wanted to get away. As they bought a limited editions book on cake baking and an ornate cupcake stand for Gabriel, Dean explained how he had moved to Boston and had ended up on the streets selling his body.

It was an incredibly sad story, Castiel had to admit. Dean had apparently done well in school, despite the moving around. He expressed regret that he had never pursued a full education and done something with his life, and Castiel thought himself lucky to be where he was. Things could have gone a lot worse.

As Dean listened to Castiel talk about his own father, and his strict religious beliefs, an idea apparently popped into his head about the location of the last present Castiel wanted to buy that day. The dancer led him to an older part of town, asking more about Castiel's family. He had never really known his mother, she left when Castiel was just a baby, the youngest of all his siblings, and they remained in their father's care for the rest of their lives. Castiel suspected she had maybe been a bit of a lost cause, one of his father's projects to help someone in need that had probably gone a little too far.

Castiel was just finishing up his story as Dean announced they had arrived at their destination. It was an old antique store with various signs in the windows reading _war memorabilia,religious artefacts, furniture_ and other various items. As Dean led him inside, he immediately knew why he had been brought here. There was a wealth of interesting religious items that his father would probably love.

He browsed for quite some time as Dean explained a few of the items to him. Apparently religion and the supernatural could be described as passions for him. They interested him and he told Castiel he spent a lot of time in that shop, owned by an older black lady called Missouri. She was an old friend of his and she had taught him a lot about the objects she sold.

Castiel eventually settled on an ornate antique bible stand with intricate carvings in the wood. Dean helped him carry it from the store and towards the multi-story Castiel had parked his car in. “You need anything else today?” Dean asked as they wandered back through town. Castiel shook his head and adjusted the bags in his hands.

“No, I'm done for now. Thank you for all your help, you really didn't have to,” he answered. Dean laughed and looked over at him.

“Don't worry about it, it was fun. We should grab coffee again some time.”

Castiel smiled a little sheepishly and looked towards Dean. “I'd like that.”

Dean helped him get the presents into the trunk of his old Buick and stood by the driver's door as they said their goodbyes, for now. “It was great seeing you, Dean,” Castiel said with an honest smile. He couldn't really remember the last time he had really smiled, but Dean just made things feel much lighter.

“And you. You gonna be back at the club soon?” Dean asked casually as he leaned on the hood.

“I'm back on Monday, Crowley wants me there,” he replied, opening the door and leaning on it as he talked to Dean. “I'll book a dance if you want,” he added with a smirk. Dean laughed and nodded a little.

“Sure, maybe I'll give you something special for your customer loyalty,” he teased. Castiel dared to shove him lightly on the arm, only making him laugh even more, before Dean finally straightened up. “See you around, Cas,” he said as he watched Castiel climb into the car. It was a bit of an odd nickname, something Castiel wasn't used to, but he didn't particularly mind. It sounded alright coming from Dean.

“Yeah, see you,” he returned before shutting the door.

He watched Dean walk away, until he was out of sight past the maze of cars in the parking lot, before he went to put the keys in the ignition. It was only then that he looked out of his front windscreen to notice the white object sat on his hood. It was the crane, all pristine with its delicately folded neck and intricate wings. He stared at it for a moment before clambering out of the car hastily to grab it.

The crane was carefully placed in the glove compartment and Castiel made sure it was perfectly safe in there before he finally started the car off to head back home. So maybe he had a soft spot for this mysterious stranger, but it felt like he had already known Dean a lifetime and most of their interaction had been erotic dancing.

He guessed it was better than a one night stand. Not many one night stands went away with a perfectly folded paper crane in their car.


	8. Eighth

   Castiel wasn't sure what provoked him to go to the club on his day off. Somehow he found himself wandering through the doors at around midnight and going through his usual routine of ordering a drink and sitting at the bar to watch the dancers. Dean wasn't on stage, which was a total shame, but the other dancers were relatively entertaining. Jo was working again that night but she seemed a little uneasy, giving Castiel a weak smile as she served him and then moved off down the bar hastily.

He had to say something felt strange. It was all pretty normal, music and dancers and people milling around, but something in his gut said _**wrong.**_ He kept his wits about him, idly running his hand under the blazer he was wearing to check the weapon he had concealed at the back of his pants. He wasn't one to go out unarmed.

He wandered over to Benny after finishing his drink to check if Dean was working that night. “Evenin',” Benny greeted, arms folded as usual as he leaned against the wall. Even though he seemed pretty normal, Castiel still couldn't shake the feeling that something just wasn't right.

“Hey, is D-... the uh... Cowboy working tonight?” he asked over the thumping music. Benny didn't even smile as he shook his head and straightened up a little.

“Nah, he called in sick,” he answered. Castiel didn't miss the quick glance around before Benny spoke again. “Seein' as your usual entertainment ain't here, maybe you should go get an early night,” he said in a lower tone. Castiel frowned at him a little, his brain starting to kick into gear. This definitely didn't smell right.

“Yeah, sure,” he said slowly, “I'll just have another drink then I'll... I'll get going.” Benny nodded at him and Castiel slowly turned to go back to the bar. Dean didn't seem like the type who would call in sick, even with a stomach bug. He couldn't afford it.

Castiel returned to the bar but Jo still said nothing to him. Balthazar, the British barman who was keen on low v-neck shirts, was a little more talkative. He told Castiel that Jo was feeling a bit under the weather. _Everyone seems to be sick,_ Castiel thought to himself. Something in his gut told him he should hang around. Something told him that leaving early tonight wasn't an option.

The next hour passed uneasily but without any event. Castiel was just ready to finally give up for the night and head home when there was a loud bang that even drowned out the music, which was promptly cut off anyway as everyone started screaming. Castiel jumped to his feet, looking over in the direction of the distinct gun shot. It had come from the doors to the back corridors, and Castiel's stomach dropped as he saw what was happening.

Crowley was stood by the doors calmly with a gun to Dean's head. To either side of him was the entirety of his security staff, all with guns of various sizes. Another shot was fired into the air by the guard to Crowley's right. “Everyone! Down, now!” the guard shouted, everyone dropping to the floor instantly. Castiel slowly went down to his knees, keeping his eyes fixed on Crowley and his guards.

Maybe fixing entirely on them wasn't the best idea. He hadn't expected a guard to be somewhere behind him and crack him hard across the back of the head. The world went blurry before it went dark and Castiel was dimly aware that he was falling forward before he was aware of nothing else.

When he came around, his head was pounding and he could feel warm, sticky blood in his hair. He groaned where he was laid on the floor, his surroundings disorientating. He could hear a helicopter in the distance and there was a gentle sobbing nearby. Everything was dark, or maybe that was just his eyes, and he felt incredibly nauseous. He blinked a few times and rolled over on the hard floor, looking up at a dim light above him.

He was vaguely aware that there was a figure stood over him, and maybe there was a gun pointing at him, but everything hurt too much for him to particularly care. “Cas?” he heard a familiar voice nearby, following by a loud thud.

“Be quiet,” someone growled. “The cop's awake.” The second part seemed to be directed at someone else and Castiel turned his head a little to try and see and his world came more into focus. The figures were still a little blurry but he could make out Crowley sat on a chair, legs crossed calmly, a few feet away.

“I can see that,” the drug lord answered dryly. Castiel looked around a little more, seeing Dean laid not far away with blood dripping from his temple and a bruised lip. He was conscious and looking at Cas, his eyes missing their black lenses. His hands were tied behind his back and he appeared to be cut and bruised in several places on his body. Castiel felt angry at that, but he was too dizzy to do anything about it.

Castiel tried to take in more of his surroundings, seeing that there were quite a few people all huddled together on the floor a bit further away. They were being kept in check by a couple of guards and appeared to be customers. Dancers and staff were closer to him, all sat together and silent. Dean was at Crowley's feet and Castiel noticed now that there was a collar around his neck like he was a pet.

“Nice to see you in the land of the living, Steve,” Crowley drawled, “or should I call you Castiel? That is your name, right?” He motioned to the guard that was stood over Castiel. “Get him sat up.” He was hauled up onto his knees and that gave him a new perspective on the club. There were about ten guards around the place, one of which was Benny, who was stood near Crowley with a hand gun. Castiel wasn't sure, but just maybe he could take a gamble on Benny. There were guards at the doors, two with the customers, one behind Castiel and two with Crowley.

They were on lockdown and Castiel was in the middle of a hostage situation. “Aren't you meant to be Boston's finest?” Crowley mused as he came closer, looking down at Castiel with a smug expression on his face. “Not very fine now, are you? You were far too easy to take down. Shameful, really.”

“How did you know?” Castiel managed to say, his throat dry and his head swimming.

“You think I'd be in this line of work, doing this well, and not have a few moles in the department? Really now, Castiel,” he cooed condescendingly. He peered behind him towards Dean on the floor and sighed. “Shame, really. I liked that one, I liked this club, but you had to go sticking your nose into things. Like a persistent dog.” He waved his own gun towards the exits in a sweeping gesture. “And now we're surrounded, because your friends just _happened_ to know what was happening here.”

“You could have just left. If you hadn't come in with guns, I'm sure the police wouldn't be so... keen to take you down,” Castiel said thickly. Crowley laughed at that and went to sit down again.

“So naïve. You think they would have left me alone if I had just walked away? No. This had to happen. You're a bit slow, aren't you? _I'm_ the one who informed the police. I told them what was happening here. And soon I'll strike a deal with them and they won't follow me, and they won't stop me leaving on a private plane to a place where they can't touch me,” Crowley explained, stupidly. Castiel was sure it was pretty dumb to give away pretty much your whole plan.

He wanted to strike a deal, and maybe that was possible, but Castiel was now determined to stop him. He didn't get to walk away from this. A phone started to ring and Castiel watched as one of the guards handed it to Crowley. He answered it calmly, reclining in his seat and idly pointing the gun at Dean.

Castiel took the chance to mouth “ _are you okay?_ ” to Dean. He nodded weakly and coughed up a little blood onto the floor. It looked like they had really done a number on him.

“Ah, well hello officer,” Crowley said brightly, “how lovely to hear from you today... no, no I don't think I will be releasing anyone.” There was silence as the officer on the other end of the line spoke. “Well that's very nice, but you see I have a hostage who needs medical attention, quite a few very scared patrons, and one of your very own in here.” More silence as he listened. “Now you're starting to get the idea. I will let everyone go, and I mean everyone, if you let me walk out of here, get into a car, and get out of the country. No following me, no tracking me, no funny business. I go as a free man.” Castiel couldn't hear the other side of the conversation but he knew the decision would have to be discussed. That would give him time.

“I hope to hear from you soon, and if I don't the bodies start dropping,” Crowley finally said before hanging up the phone. Castiel tried to clear his mind as they all sat there in silence. He was aware he no longer had a weapon. He was aware that he was at a disadvantage. He tried to take deep breaths and assess the situation. The guard that was with him was stood too close, that was a good thing. If Castiel was fast enough, he could maybe do something.

He looked down at Dean and managed a reassuring smile. Dean managed to return it a little before he closed his eyes and wheezed. Castiel had to act fast. He carefully looked around, making a note of all exits and threats. He centred himself and flexed his fingers, moving his feet so his toes were digging down against the floor.

He waited until Crowley was looking away, talking to one of his guards, before he moved. He span quickly, grabbing the wrist of the man behind him and turning the gun away quickly to divert the inevitable shot. The bullet flew up towards the ceiling harmlessly. Castiel disabled the guard with a swift hit to the wrist bones, making him release the gun. He grabbed the weapon himself and lifted it immediately to knock the man across the head and send him to the ground before he was jumping to his feet to spin and point the gun at Crowley.

It only took a few seconds but already guns were being whipped out to point at him, but he had the advantage. He had a weapon pointing straight at their boss. “Drop the gun,” Crowley said calmly, not even flinching.

“Don't listen to him,” Benny suddenly chimed in. Castiel glanced to him to see that he actually had two guns, and each was pointing at a different guard.

“Oh don't be such a hero,” Crowley growled as he looked over his shoulder at Benny.

“I ain't no hero, I haven't been since I started workin' for your slimy ass,” Benny bit back, “I don't care about walkin' out of here alive, and that guy's got a gun pointin' at your head. I'd say we got a bit of an upper hand here.” Benny was calm and collected and Castiel took a moment to admire that as he kept his weapon aimed at Crowley.

“You're going to let us go,” Castiel ordered quietly, dangerously. He ignored the throbbing pain in his head and stepped closer, not shying away as the weapons were trained to his head. “You're going to give yourself up.”

“And why would I do a thing like that?” Crowley snarled at him.

“Because otherwise I'll make you wish you had,” Castiel answered.

Crowley rose from his seat slowly, not even raising his own gun. Castiel was aware that any non-kill shot was going to cause the bullets to fly. He had to make it good. This was going to end messy and he had an ultimate goal here. He would take Crowley down. “And how are you going to do that?” Crowley hissed, right up into Castiel's space.

Castiel sneered briefly before moving. He struck the butt of the gun across the side of Crowley's face, ducking as the chorus of gunshots started up. He rolled to the side as Crowley fell to the ground, taking aim as he landed on the floor himself. He pulled the trigger as quick as he could, landing a bullet solidly in Crowley's leg and another in his side.

Benny had already taken down four guards by the time Castiel was jumping back to his feet to help. He took Crowley's gun from him and took out the guard that was coming towards him from the huddle of customers. Benny had already killed one, which meant the customers were now free of guards.

More appeared out of nowhere and Castiel and Benny went back to back to take them out. They were stood over Dean, keeping him covered. He could distantly hear the police outside trying to break down the doors, but they were apparently heavily barricaded. Castiel would take cover if there was actually anywhere to go, but the closest thing was the bar and some of Crowley's guards had already ducked behind it. There were out in the open and it was dangerous, but he stood fast with the security of Benny behind him.

“Probably not a smart move, brother,” Benny shouted over the gunfire. Castiel laughed and shot a guard in the shoulder.

“What, can't handle a little shoot out?” he answered.

They nearly managed to clear the club when Benny suddenly recoiled against Castiel's back and dropped to the floor. He spun to see who had managed to hit Benny, quickly taking a shot at a guard that was hiding behind a table, sending him to the floor, motionless. Benny groaned from the floor and Castiel dropped a gun to offer him a hand whilst scoping out the rest of the club. His heart was in his throat and his lungs were burning. It had all happened so fast and he could hear more guards coming, their shouts echoing through the corridors.

He was glad when the SWAT team finally managed to break through the barricades at the doors. They beat the guards into the centre of the club and took up a defensive position around the hostages. Castiel kept his gun raised supporting Benny against him as he watched the guards enter the room and slide to a halt as they came face to face with SWAT.

At last it was over. In reality it had only taken minutes, but it had felt like hours to Castiel. He let his weapon drop to the floor and then went down too, collapsing to his knees beside Dean. “My hero,” Dean mumbled thickly. Castiel hushed him and untied his hands, which had only been fastened with rope.

He sat with Dean and Benny until the paramedics were able to bring a stretcher in for Dean. The SWAT team had cleared out all the men who had surrendered, maybe a few had run away, but it was finally all clear. Castiel walked beside the stretcher as it was taken outside to be loaded into an ambulance. “I'll see you soon,” he said to Dean, briefly squeezing his arm before the paramedics slid him into the back of the vehicle.

Castiel watched the ambulance rush away with its sirens blaring before he was herded to the back of an ambulance too to have the wound on his head tended. He saw Benny being wheeled into a nearby ambulance, relatively unscathed considering he had been shot. The bullet appeared to have shocked him more than anything, lodging in his arm and missing anything particularly vital. He was sat up in his stretcher and gave Castiel a small wave before the doors were shut on his ambulance.

Castiel sat numbly at the back of the ambulance, watching the emergency services clear up the scene. He had never expected something like that to happen when he had left his home earlier that night. His whole body and mind ached and he just wanted to sleep for an eternity, but he was glad that Dean was alive, and that everyone who had been held hostage was safe at last.


	9. Ninth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read so woo? xD

   Dean wasn't sure how long he had been out by the time he finally woke up in hospital. Everything was a blur and at first he had no idea what had happened. He blinked up at the white ceiling above him, listening to the noises around him. He could hear a heart monitor beeping and was thankful that was the only thing he was hooked up to.

As the events of... whatever night it was, maybe it was last night, started coming back to him, he had to say he was glad that he was apparently pretty unscathed. He remembered one of Crowley's cronies kicking his ribs, remembered a collar being put around his neck, remembered the various threats of what they would do to him. They had had their suspicions that Dean knew what Cas was, and apparently that had been enough to warrant a thorough beating.

He had had worse in his time, at least he didn't have a machine to help him breathe. He just ached, a lot, all over. He slowly rolled his head to one side to watch the line on the monitor jump up and down in time with his heart. Even his neck hurt. He sighed a little in frustration, not even attempting to sit up as he tested his body a little to make sure his arms and legs still worked.

He was just lifting his arm above him to inspect the bruises there when the door to his room opened. He looked over to see Cas entering slowly. “Well look, it's Captain America,” Dean said with a small laugh, which hurt. He groaned and let his arm drop. Cas laughed and moved to sit beside the bed.

“Not quite the American hero,” he muttered with a sheepish smile.

“Well, you're my hero.” Dean looked at him, taking in his features again. He had seen him in town that time, when they were buying presents, but now he really paid attention. Cas had a strong jaw with a little stubble and sharp, blue eyes. His hair was messy and unkempt, like he hadn't brushed it in a few days, but it suited him. “How long have I been out?”

Castiel shrugged and idly ran his hand over the back of his head, wincing. Dean remembered that night again, when he had watched a guard knock Cas to the ground. The whole thing was a little blurry, like he was remembering the images through a barrier made out of water. “Not long,” Cas answered with a sigh, “it all happened a few hours ago, really. I just got discharged so I... thought I'd make sure you're okay.”

Dean hummed and looked at the bruises on his arms again. “Had worse,” he said quietly. He was still trying to piece together what had happened, but at least now he knew why he hurt so much. It had all happened so recently, the bruises were just forming and the metaphorical truck had only just run over his head.

He remembered laying on the floor with Cas and Benny stood over him, remembered the gun fire. He suddenly looked at Cas and frowned. “Benny... is he... did he get shot?” he asked cautiously. Cas nodded but quickly cleared things up.

“Yeah, but it was just in the arm. He's fine. I just came from his room,” he explained. Dean sighed in relief and closed his eyes. He let the panic settle down again, taking a few deep breaths. Benny was one of his best friends from the club, along with Jo and Charlie. The guard always had his back, and didn't treat Dean like a piece of meat like the rest tended to.

A small grin broke onto Dean's face and he looked at Cas again. “I see how it is,” he murmured, “I'm not even top priority, some guy with a hole in his arm gets seen first.” Cas smirked a little at him and prodded one of the bruises on his arm gently.

“He was on the way. I had to go past his room,” he argued with a gentle laugh. “I came up this way as soon as I was discharged, you ass.” Dean grinned at him and slowly started to push himself up. Cas was quick to help him as he winced, supporting his back and setting up the pillows behind him.

Cas' hands were warm and Dean tried to ignore the way they gently supported him until he was settled on his pillows. The upright position seemed to make his head function a bit more and the events of the past night became a lot clearer. “How's your head?” he asked Cas as he looked across at the cop. He shrugged and ran his fingers over the injury again.

“Had worse,” he repeated Dean's words from earlier, a small smile tugging at his lips. Dean laughed and motioned to the jug of water on the table next to his bed.

“C'mon, your bedside manner is awful, my throat feels like the Sahara,” Dean murmured, emphasising his point with a rasping cough that made his chest scream in pain.

Cas was quick to pour him a drink of water and offered it to him. The liquid was refreshing but it did hurt a little to swallow. Dean ran a hand over his throat and the tenderness suggested quite a bit of bruising from the dog collar. “How bad do I look?” he asked quietly, looking at Cas for an honest answer.

“I don't think anyone will be tipping you any time soon,” Cas said in a half-hearted attempt to make a joke. Dean didn't miss the way his eyes darted down to his throat. He ran his fingers over the bruises again and sighed. Seeing him like that would probably change how Cas saw him forever. And there Dean was talking about forever with a guy he had only just met, and had given exotic dances to. “I'm sorry you had to go through that,” he continued almost silently.

Dean looked at him and let his hand drop from his throat. He tried a small smile of reassurance but it was just as half-hearted as Cas' attempt to lighten the mood. “I'm sorry you had to see it,” he answered. Cas shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

“No, it was all my fault. It should never have gotten that messy I guess I'm just... I don't know... maybe I'm not cut out for this,” he sighed. Dean felt sorry for the man. Cas was, by all means, a good cop. He did an outstanding job, he was doing great at the club other than the fact Crowley had a snitch.

“Look, it's not your fault, Cas. Crowley had spies in the police department, whatever you'd have done, or anyone had done, he'd have found out. He found out yesterday morning and he went psycho, started saying that everyone was incompetent for letting you in the club. Then he remembered that I was the one who took you to him and he just lost it,” Dean explained with a shrug, swirling the water around in the cup. “I've known you what... a week? And I can tell you're a good cop, and a great guy. You're good at what you do, Crowley's just better at being a snake.”

Castiel seemed to think over his words for a few minutes before nodding slowly. “You say he had a snitch on the inside?” Dean nodded in confirmation.

“But don't go getting any ideas about huntin' them out, bet they're as nasty as he is,” he warned gently. Cas didn't seem to hear him.

“It's my job,” he breathed out, starting to stand up. “Look, I gotta go write up my report for this. You gonna be okay here?”

There was the loneliness and the crippling medical fees that would come when he left, but Dean was sure he would be 'okay' there. He nodded and Cas said his goodbyes before leaving the room. Silence fell again and Dean felt the wounds on his body start to ache even more. He didn't want to be alone, but who was he to ask a near stranger to sit and stay with him at the hospital?

He tried to settle down for some more rest, but he was worried. If Cas was going after Crowley's network on the inside, it could get dangerous. All he could do was hope that he handed all the information over for someone else to handle. Besides, Dean assumed he was vice, that was nothing to do with internal affairs. Something still made him feel on edge, however.

He attempted to push it all from his mind as he rested back against his pillows and closed his eyes. He wanted to be out of there as soon as possible, before the bills got too huge and the loneliness took its toll. Luckily Jet would be fine, it was a bit of a protocol that, in emergencies, Charlie would go around with her spare key and make sure the cat was well fed and clean.

Thank God for small mercies.


	10. Tenth

   Dean had a few visitors on the Tuesday, Charlie being the first to appear in the morning and spend an hour or two with him. She managed to sneak him a slice of apple pie in, because apparently hospital food sucked and he deserved something nice after everything he had been through. He ate it slowly as she told him what was happening as far as she knew. They weren't allowed back near the club. The local police and the FBI had it on lockdown.

“I don't think it'll open back up,” Charlie said with a sigh as she took a bite out of her own slice of pie. Of course she couldn't leave Dean to eat alone. She had her long, red hair scraped back into a pony tail and she looked like she hadn't slept in three days. Dean guessed they all had it pretty rough.

“Yeah, you're probably right,” he agreed quietly as he prodded his food. It was highly unlikely that the club would open up again. It was owned by Crowley and he was sure to go down after everything that had happened. They were all out of jobs. “Please tell me they caught the son-of-a-bitch.”

Charlie nodded and tucked her feet up under her where she was sat on the chair. “That cop friend of yours pretty much disabled him. Nothing fatal or anything but he couldn't run, last I heard they arrested him and took him to be patched up,” she explained. Dean nodded, a small amount of relief filling him. At least it wasn't all in vain. “What're you gonna do for a job?” Charlie asked after a few moments of silence.

He shrugged and let out a heavy sigh. He had been thinking a lot about that as he lay there in that damned hospital bed. The truth was, he had no idea. “I dunno, just... look around for one I guess,” he muttered. Charlie frowned a little and he knew what was going through her head. He couldn't afford to be out of work for long. No one could. “What about you?”

“There's a company that wants to hire me, they've got some high level computer shit that needs doing,” she answered. Dean smiled at that. It was just the sort of job Charlie had been waiting for.

“I'm proud of you,” he said with a grin. She laughed and reached out to shove him lightly. “Ow!”

“Stop being such a softie, doesn't suit you,” she said around a mouthful of pie.

Charlie left when the pie was finished and she was done probing Dean on the hot cop guy he obviously had a soft spot for. Dean only had a few minutes of peace before Jo appeared. She was just checking up on him before she headed out to do some job hunting. Apparently her mother had offered her a job but she was reluctant to go work at some “poxy two-bit joint in the middle of nowhere”.

The next visitor was somewhat of a surprise. There was a knock at the door and Dean looked up to see Sam stood sheepishly in the doorway. “Hey, Dean,” he greeted quietly. Dean smiled at him and waved for him to come closer.

“Heya, Sammy. What brings you to my humble abode?”

Sam shook his head and sank down into the chair. “Don't be a dick, Dean. The police got in touch to tell us what happened, or... that you got kinda beat up,” Sam explained, his giant frame filling the chair he was sat in.

“Beat up is an understatement,” Dean said dryly as he motioned to the bruises on his body.

“I can see that,” Sam answered quietly with a sigh. “What happened?”

Dean still wasn't terribly sure what had happened. He remembered snippets of the action but it all remained a little blurred and foggy. “Turns out my boss was a drug dealer,” Dean started to explain, “but we kinda all knew that anyway. Then this undercover cop shows up and I mean he was pretty obvious to me but I didn't hand him over or anything. But Crowley had this snitch in the police department and found out and...” he trailed off and frowned a little, deciding how much to tell Sam. He didn't really want to tell his brother he had had a collar fastened around his neck like a dog and had been shoved to the floor before being kicked and beaten.

Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. “It kinda all kicked off. Big hostage situation but that cop was there and... I guess he kinda saved my life,” he finished. It was true. If it weren't for Cas, he would be dead. He would have died on the floor of a strip club with a collar around his neck. It wasn't really Cas' fault that it had all gone down like that, the police would have investigated anyway and Crowley still would have gone insane, but Dean wasn't so sure that just any cop would have protected him like that.

“Dean?” Sam looked worried and Dean realised he must have zoned out for a little while.

“Yeah?”

“I said, do you know who he is? The cop?”

“Cas... or Castiel. His family's religious,” Dean said with a small shrug, earning a deeper frown from Sam. “We had coffee,” he clarified, wiping the frown away and making the eyebrows shoot up the other way. “It's not like that.” Sam didn't seem convinced but he left it at that, and Dean left out the part where they spent the day shopping for presents for Cas' family. Sam already seemed to be getting grand ideas.

He listened to Sam talk about how their dad didn't want to come over to see Dean, said it served him right. It sounded like the exact reaction Dean had been expecting. If he was honest, he hadn't even expected to see Sam.

“I won't have a job when I get out of here,” Dean eventually said quietly. Sam had an almost pitying expression on his face that Dean didn't want to particularly see. He was the older brother, not Sam, he shouldn't be receiving that look from him. “I was struggling with the rent anyway, I don't know how I'm gonna go on now.”

“Look, Dean, I can help,” Sam said, again. For the hundredth time this last month. Dean let his head fall back to his pillows and closed his eyes. He might just have to take up that offer.

“Y'know what, Sammy, I could really use a place to stay,” he answered softly, “just on the couch.” Sam nodded and a smile broke out onto his face.

“Yeah, sure, we can do that. Look the nurse told me you should be out tomorrow when I got here, so I'm gonna go now and get some stuff in, like food.” He stood to leave, looking down at Dean with one of the most excited expressions he had seen him wear for a long time. “When you get outta here, I'm gonna look after you.”

It was a bit of a kick to the gut for Dean, his baby brother looking after him, but he didn't want to wipe that smile off Sam's face. He nodded and smiled back. “Sure. You go get that food, I'll see you later.”

They said their goodbyes and Sam left with a wake of happiness trailing behind him, like a ray of sunshine on a miserable winter morning. It soon faded for Dean and he was left alone to think about how fucked up the whole situation was. He guessed, really, he didn't have a choice. And living with Sam for a while wouldn't be so bad.


	11. Eleventh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. I didn't have a good time of it yesterday.

   Dean discharged himself from the hospital in the morning. He was sick of lying in bed when there were other things he could be doing. Charlie was waiting for him at the front of the hospital when he limped out into the cold December air. She greeted him with a hug and then a sharp punch to the arm. “Discharging yourself early, such a smart move,” she chided as they went to her car.

“I'm fine,” Dean argued, rubbing his arm. “There's nothing wrong with me, just a few bruises.” Charlie rolled her eyes at that but didn't say anything more. He was allowed to ride in her car in peace.

Charlie told him how she had been looking after Jet. Apparently the cat looked at her as if she was wishing death upon her every time the door opened and it wasn't Dean. “She's not very sociable,” Charlie muttered under her breath. Dean laughed and shook his head.

“She is to me,” he said with a small smirk.

“She tried to claw my face off,” she grumbled and Dean only chuckled in response. Jet truly was his little demon kitty.

He had to say he was glad to see her when he finally got back to his apartment. She called to him loudly, repeatedly, as he stepped through the door. She rubbed up his legs and purred loudly, chirping away as if she wasn't really the cat from Hell. “How is that fair?” Charlie sighed as she looked down at the cat that was happily fussing around Dean's legs.

He picked Jet up and rubbed between her ears softly. “We just have a lot in common,” he said simply as he cradled her in his arms and rubbed her cheeks until she was purring extremely loud. He tried to ignore the soft, sad smile from Charlie as he carried Jet further into the apartment. Charlie knew his past, knew how he had ended up doing the work he was doing. She probably saw the similarities between him and Jet more than most.

Charlie stayed for a coffee before she left Dean to get settled back in, or rather start packing his stuff. He knew he would be out of a job, Charlie had told him that the club was officially shut down. There was no place for him any more and that meant no money. No money meant that his landlord would soon crack down on that last month of unpaid rent and he wouldn't have anywhere to live anyway.

That and he didn't really want to be alone. The last few days had sucked and he just wanted the company of someone he knew, someone he was comfortable with. He started to pack his clothes into a duffel bag, not struggling too much for space considering he didn't own much. He would have to pack some stuff for Jet too. Sam had said in his hurried goodbye that Dean was welcome to take his cat with him. He was an animal lover and dreamed of owning a dog, but he was too busy at the minute.

Anything he couldn't fit in his limited suitcases and bags would just be donated to charity or put in the trash if it was useless. It was time to cut down his belongings and maybe start afresh. Maybe he could get a job with Bobby. He always said that Dean had a way of fixing up cars, but business was pretty bad lately. Maybe if he could prove himself worth it then Bobby would give him a chance at one of his dream jobs.

Dean was just packing some of Jet's toys into a carrier bag when his cell rang. He fished it out of his pocket to see Sam's caller ID on the screen. He picked it up and cradled it on his shoulder as he continued to pack. “Heya, Sammy,” he greeted cheerily.

“ _Hey, Dean._ ” Sam's deflated tone on the other end of the phone made him stop what he was doing and hold the phone properly.

“What's up?” he asked cautiously. He had a sinking feeling that he didn't want to hear this.

“ _It's dad,_ ” Sam said quietly, “ _he's told me to stay away from you, said that if I take you in then he'll disown me too, or worse. I don't even want to know what he meant by that._ ”

Dean sank down onto his bed slowly and ran a hand over his face. “Hey, it's okay, honestly,” he said in an attempt to reassure Sam. He would find a way to survive... maybe.

“ _I'm so sorry, Dean. He's threatening to ruin my career using information about you. I don't know what to do._ ” Sam sounded genuinely distraught and that made Dean even more upset and pissed off. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

“It'll be fine, okay? No big deal. Best not to test him I guess. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine.” He looked down at Jet's expectant face where she was sat at his feet, looking up at him. In that moment he feared for the future of both of them. “Look, Sammy, I gotta go. I need to get some stuff sorted,” he said quietly.

“ _Alright... I'll talk to you soon, Dean. Let me know what happens._ ”

Dean hung up after saying goodbye and then sat in silence. Jet tried to cheer him up, hopping up beside him and headbutting him gently to get his attention. “Sorry, girl,” he murmured, “looks like we need to find a plan B.”

He spent the afternoon calling around trying to find a place that would give him a job. He didn't want to stay with any of his friends and be a burden, it had been hard enough accepting the help from Sam. He knew, deep down, that his stubbornness and independence would probably be the end of him but he stuck by his decision.

By the end of the day, he had found out that nowhere was really hiring right now and Bobby couldn't afford to take anyone on. He stared blankly at the phone in his hand as he sat numbly on the bed. This was not going to end well.

There was only one way left, to him, that he could raise the money to keep his apartment, and it wasn't a preferable option. “I don't have a choice,” he murmured to himself.  


	12. Twelth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry sorry I PROMISE IT GETS BETTERO KAY

   The night air was cold and Dean shivered in the tight t-shirt he was wearing. Covering up wasn't really an option for what he wanted to do. He walked slowly up the dark street, trying not to wrap his arms around himself for warmth. If he wanted to stand a chance, his physique had to be visible. It had been a long time since he had walked the streets like that, and apparently things had changed a bit.

The old area where he used to do most of his work was not as active and he had to wander quite some distance before he found an area where he could rest against a wall and wait. Female hookers were also loitering around, shady men in cars driving slowly down the street to scope them out. Dean watched idly from his spot near a liquor store as a few of the ladies managed to pick up clients.

Things were obviously harder if you were male. There was the odd man who would stop to satisfy a guilty pleasure before returning to his wife, but most would chicken out of it. The best Dean could do was hope some rather forward client approached him first. Once he was more well known, it was more likely for those who were more unsure of his purpose to approach him.

“You new?” a voice said to his right. He turned his head to look at the tall red-head stood beside him. Her lips were basically the colour of her enemies' blood and her eyes glinted in the dark. She was the type men would run from screaming, or enjoy the punishment from.

Dean straightened up a little and nodded a little. “Around here, yeah,” he answered. He had been in the game for quite a while before he had started work at the club. He knew not to appear like a newbie. Women like this could be pretty malicious and really take you for a ride if you didn't understand what they were up to.

“Looking to get in another territory? Very brave,” she purred, idly inspecting her polished nails. Dean thought she was somewhat like a finely tuned predator.

“I'm not looking to get in on anyone's territory, just want a bit of work. Wouldn't be here if I didn't need the money,” he said calmly. He pushed his hands into his pockets and watched the vicious grin spread onto her face. She made him feel altogether uncomfortable. She wasn't even dressed like your average prostitute. She didn't use the usual method of barely clothing herself to show off her body. She wore a leather jacket over a form-hugging t-shirt and a pair of tight, black jeans. The heels on her boots looked like they could impale a skull and Dean tried not to look at them.

“Oh, just a bit of work? Well, I guess I'll just send people your way then,” she sighed. Dean turned his head away to watch as a pair of headlights swept around the corner and started to creep down the road.

“I don't wanna step on toes, miss,” he said as politely as he could. She laughed coldly, looking at him with an expression that said she would eat him for breakfast.

“Call me Abaddon, everyone else does,” she said with a wicked grin before turning to the car, making it slow down to a stop.

Dean tried not to listen in on the conversation, minding his own business as Abaddon leaned on the sill of the car's window and spoke to the man inside. It didn't take her long to pick him up. She straightened up in victory and turned back to Dean for a moment. “Get what you need and then leave. There isn't room here for you. And don't be such a prude. Sex is a gift, a pleasure, shouldn't be ashamed of making a bit of money from it.” She winked at him before climbing into the car.

He watched as the tail lights disappeared and then sighed to himself. He used to have the same view as Abaddon. Sex was something pleasurable and no one should be ashamed of enjoying it, but after a while he had just started to feel dirty. Something deep down inside him had told him that it was wrong, that it didn't feel right to him. He respected any woman on the streets after he had experienced what they went through, but it just wasn't for him.

He would say it had outright taken the fun out of sex for him. Now he just wanted someone nice to settle down with. Someone he could curl up with and not have to worry about any obligation of sex. Somehow he knew that would never happen, but he could dream.

Dean wandered up the street slowly before picking up a new spot where it was a little less bright from the streetlights. It wasn't long before another car pulled down the street, a big, sleek, black car that looked like it would belong to a businessman. Dean watched as it slowly drew up near him, the windows blacked out.

One of the windows slid down and Dean moved forward to peer into the car. Inside was a rather disgusting looking man, personality wise, probably in his fifties, with a sneer on his face and short, greying hair. “Fancy a job?” the man asked. Dean liked to be more choosy about his clients, but he was starting to get desperate. If Abaddon came back and he was still loitering around, he wasn't totally sure what she would do.

Yes, Dean was sometimes scared of women. Women were just as deadly, if not more so, than men. He would certainly try to steer clear of the woman who looked like she owned every street in Boston. “Sure, what you offering?” Dean leaned on the sill of the car to look in and casually check it out. It all looked pretty normal, no obvious hidden weapons or people hiding in the back.

“Fifty bucks for your mouth on my dick,” the guy jeered. Dean was half tempted to tell him to go fuck himself, but fifty dollars was a big chunk of the money he needed for the rent. He sighed and nodded, opening the door to the car and climbing in.

“Find somewhere we won't be disturbed,” he ordered calmly.

There was a sinister silence in the car as the man drove for a while before settling on an alley with very little light and a dead end. He flicked off the headlights of the car and then turned to Dean, his face illuminated only by moonlight and the city lights illuminating the sky. “What are you waiting for?” he snapped at Dean.

It wasn't the most pleasant experience, Dean had to admit. He didn't want to think when the man had last washed down there, and he certainly wanted three showers when he got home. He got the job done fast and skilfully, being the 'good little slut' that he was demanded to be and swallowing as much as he could. It was vile, but it was done.

“You didn't get it all,” the man growled. Dean was confused at first and then looked down to see that some of the come had ended up on the seat. Dread settled in him and he felt a hand against his chest. “Get the fuck out of my car, slut,” he snarled.

“Hey, hey no, you owe me. I did what you wanted,” Dean bit back, not budging from the seat. The man threw some money at him and reached across to open the door and shove Dean forcefully out onto the street. He tumbled back and smacked his head against the concrete. The world went a little fuzzy and his whole body went numb, but he was aware of the man closing the door again and driving off.

When Dean managed to come to his senses, with thankfully little damage to his already bruised body, he found only about twenty dollars scattered around the concrete next to him. He sighed and picked the notes up, stuffing them in his pocket before slowly climbing to his feet. He had had enough for the night. He made his way to the end of the alley to start the long walk back to his car, parked safely in a parking lot.

All he wanted to do was shower and forget the night.


	13. Thirteenth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about the delay. I had a really tough weekend.

   It was Friday the 13th. That was never going to end well anyway. Dean wasn't a particularly suspicious person, but things were pretty shit anyway and it seemed like the world would take any opportunity to make things worse. Dean took his position around the corner from Abaddon's territory, not willing to start a fight with her. It was probably a fight he wouldn't win in his condition.

He still hurt all over, his muscles aching and his bones protesting to every movement. The bruises were dark and angry and seemed to constantly hurt. He guessed he wasn't the most appealing offer on the streets, but he still had to try. It was a lot more quiet where he was situated, most of the action taking place on the street where Abaddon was. He thought that maybe he could try moving around there later on when there weren't so many ladies around.

The weather was starting to take a turn for the worse, a thin layer of snow and ice forming on the sidewalk and road. For now, it wasn't snowing. For most of the day the flakes had been falling and trying to settle. At first it had all melted away from the recent rain, but now it was colder and it had started to settle. Dean was cold, his hands and nose going red and his breath clouding on the air. He had to get some work soon.

A car had just pulled down the street when he heard footsteps nearby, several sets of them. They were the click of high heels and Dean felt his stomach drop. He had hoped he wouldn't have any trouble, but apparently that wasn't the case. He turned as the car drove past to see Abaddon stood with two women, her hands on her hips and a dark smile on her face. “I didn't think I'd be seeing you again,” she purred, stepping closer to him, “I thought my warning was loud and clear.”

“I'm sorry, I just really need the money,” Dean pleaded, taking in the two women that were with her. They both had dark hair and Dean was sure he had seen one of them at the club before. He was sure her name was Meg.

“He needs the money, girls,” Abaddon sighed. She looked at the other women and then back to Dean, those red lips curving up into a wicked smile. “Meg, Ruby, do you think we should let him stay? Maybe he could be a pet.”

Dean wanted to cringe at that, flashbacks of the collar popping into his mind. “It's okay,” he said quickly, “I'll just leave. I haven't taken any money tonight. I promise. I'll just leave.” He was about to turn away to get out of there when he felt a firm grip on his arm. He looked down to see Abaddon's shiny red nails digging into his jacket.

“Not so fast, handsome,” she said brightly, “I think we want to claim a bit of insurance on that promise.”

He should have known something like this would happen. It wasn't like the world was being particularly kind to him lately. He tried to pull away but Abaddon delivered a sharp punch to his diaphragm before he could go anywhere, winding him and making him double over. It was right where he had been wounded before and it hurt more than ever. He coughed and fell to his knees, doing the only thing he could do.

He couldn't fight back. He was too weak and tired. His bones ached and his head hurt along too. He wasn't going to fight back against these women. This was his own fault. All he could do was curl up and take the beating. They kicked him for a while and one of them jammed the heel of her shoe against his ribs. They didn't leave until they were satisfied that he was bruised enough.

He watched from the floor, snow beginning to fall heavily, as they sauntered off like nothing had happened, like this was a regular occurrence. The ground was cold and damp but he couldn't move. The old bruises had new bruises over them and he felt more rotten than ever. He groaned and rolled onto his back, looking up at the dark sky and the kaleidoscope of snowflakes above him and wondering how he had ended up there.

Dean wasn't earning enough money to survive. He was already behind on the rent and now he wasn't making enough to even eat. Somehow, he just knew it was the end of the line. He slowly climbed to his feet, cringing at the pain that shot through his ribs, and then made his way carefully to his car.

The Impala was warm and welcoming, her seats pressing against his aching body as if to soothe it. At least there was always one constant in his life. He started the drive back to his apartment, the car eating up probably the last money he had in fuel. A warm bed sounded best right now, not that it was very warm. He couldn't afford the heating in his apartment.

It was when he got to his front door that the final blow was served. There was a piece of paper pinned to it. It was an eviction notice. He stared at it, blankly, for a few minutes before slowly removing it from the door. It really was the end of the line. He let out a shaky breath. He had to make plans. He had to find a home for Jet. He could easily find somewhere, but Jet? She needed a place to stay.

The black cat greeted him with her usual chirps as he entered the apartment, and that was when he finally couldn't take it any more. He let the door close and sank down to the floor, burying his face in his hands and curling in on himself. He couldn't do it any more. He was battered and bruised and filthy. He had gotten everything he deserved, he supposed. It had been a long time coming. It turned out, after all this time, that his dad was right.

He felt a soft, velvet head butt against his arm and looked down at the young cat that was trying to get his attention. He smiled weakly at her and moved his hand to gently rub between her ears. “I'm sorry, girl,” he said quietly, “I tried, I really did. I'll find you somewhere nice to go, like I always promised.” She purred softly as she pushed past his arms to climb into his lap, curling up where his legs were bent up to his stomach and laying her head on his chest.

He watched as she closed her eyes and tangled her claws gently in his shirt. It was almost as if she knew, and it was enough to make a lump form in his throat as he leaned over her and rested his head on his knees, covering her protectively with his body. She kept purring, her claws flexing against him, for quite some time. He didn't mind. It was the one moment of peace he had had for weeks.

Tomorrow, it would all disappear.


	14. Fourteenth

   Castiel decided it was time to get a little more festive, with just over ten days to go until Christmas. With Gabriel insisting they did something this year, again, he guessed it was best to at least get a tree. He climbed into his car on a snowy Saturday morning and cursed the winter for its coldness. Overnight, it had snowed considerably and there was a few inches of snow on the sidewalks. His old Buick had been covered but he had taken the time to clear it off and get it warmed up enough to be tolerable.

He rarely drove anywhere, not enjoying city driving and getting enough of it in his job, but he guessed he had no choice if he was going to pick a tree up. First things first, he needed some decorations for it. He wasn't putting a plain tree up in his apartment with nothing on it. He headed into town with every intention of _not_ breaking the bank on Christmas.

It was busy, predictably, and Castiel felt the grumpiness setting in as soon as he pulled up. He could see people milling around and bustling about and he dreaded making his way through the crowds already. He hated shopping. He hated socialising. It was unnecessarily awkward and a huge inconvenience. Maybe one year Gabriel would stop insisting that they actually did something for Christmas.

The snow was starting up again gently as he started his trek to the shops. It was when he was fighting his way through a group of young mothers that he heard a familiar voice. “Cas?” He stalled, spinning on his heel to scan the crowd. Dean was stood just a few feet away, surrounded by young women hauling ridiculously large bags around.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said with a small smile, carefully making his way over to the other man. He looked tired, and possibly had more bruises than he had had last time Castiel had seen him. He chose not to mention it, the look of relief in Dean's eyes saying something to him. It looked like Dean had needed to meet someone here just as much as he did.

The next thing Castiel noticed was just how cold Dean looked. His cheeks were red raw and he was bundled up tight in a jumper and a coat, but nothing much else, no scarf or gloves. “You look cold,” Castiel said with a frown. Dean's hopeful smile faded a little and he glanced down at his feet.

“Yeah, I am a bit cold,” he muttered. Castiel gently reached out to wrap his fingers around Dean's arm, not missing the fact that the other man flinched and almost drew away.

“Come on,” he said gently, giving him a small tug, “let's go get a coffee and warm up.”

It wasn't his initial plan for the day, but the relief that swept over Dean's face said it was the right thing to do. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His eyes were sunken and it seemed like his clothes barely fitted him. Castiel kept him close, fingers wrapped loosely around his forearm as they weaved through the crowds. Dean didn't fight him, following him closely and not arguing.

Castiel was glad when they reached the warmth of the closest coffee shop, a busy Starbucks on the street corner. He gently guided Dean over to a booth that had just come empty at the back of the shop and made him sit down. “What do you want?” he asked as he fished out his wallet. Dean gazed at him for a minute, as if he was working something out, before he finally replied.

“Just a cappuccino today, please,” he said quietly, “but Cas, you don't have to, really.”

“I insist. We need a catch up, anyway,” he reassured before heading to the counter to order their drinks. To save himself getting up from the booth again, he waited until they were ready and then carried them back over to Dean, sinking down in the seat opposite him and sliding the cup of coffee over the table.

The eager way Dean took the hot drink said a lot. He really was cold, and looked like he hadn't had a decent cup of coffee for days. Castiel sighed and leaned back in his seat. “So how are you doing?” he asked quietly, making Dean pause with his cup to his lips. He watched as the dancer shrugged gently and then took a sip of his drink, swallowing it carefully before putting the cup down and answering.

“Alright, I guess.” He didn't seem sure in his answer and Castiel got more suspicious. “Still don't have a job and uh... job hunting isn't going too well.”

“If you need help, you just gotta ask,” Castiel said before drinking from his own cup.

“I couldn't do that,” Dean replied with a frown, “it's not your job to offer that.”

“I owe you,” he insisted gently, “it's my fault you're in this situation. It's really the least I can do.” Dean seemed a little sceptical but Castiel changed the topic as quickly as possible. “Anyway, I'm shopping again, much to my delight.”

“What are you getting today?” Dean asked with a small chuckle.

“A tree. My brother insists that Christmas is happening for real this year,” Castiel said with a laugh. Dean smiled and shook his head, looking down at the cup cradled in his hands. Castiel wished he could do more for him, but really it wasn't his place to push too hard. He knew nothing about Dean's life. He was sure that he had the support he needed from someone.

“You getting a real one?”

Castiel shook his head and rolled his eyes. Real trees made the room smell funny and littered their needles all over the place. He was more than willing to hunt for a fake one. “I'm not _that_ into the spirit, Gabriel's lucky that I'm buying a tree at all.”

Dean looked at him and seemed a lot brighter, his eyes less dull and empty. Castiel was glad he could provide a bit of help that day.

“I think I know where you can get a tree from,” Dean pondered as he sipped at his coffee, “there's a shop with discounts on just 'round the corner.”

They finished their coffees and chatted away idly as they did. Castiel told Dean a little bit about the work he had been doing, but didn't tell him that he had looked into the mole in the police department, and Dean told Castiel about his brother and the way his father was behaving. Castiel had to admit it made him sad. His own father wasn't the best, but at least he wasn't like that.

The pair headed out of the coffee shop when their hands and feet were warm and they were ready to face the snow again. Dean led the way this time, doing the same thing Castiel had done and holding onto his forearm gently. His hand was warm and Castiel tried to ignore the comforting way the other man's fingers wrapped around his arm. They made their way through the busy streets and managed to get into the shop that was selling trees. They really were discounted and Castiel was glad for Dean's knowledge. At least he didn't have to break his wallet to satisfy Gabriel.

Dean even helped him carry the tree around the shop and pick out some decorations, very basic baubles and tinsel. Castiel would certainly not be seen to be making too much of an effort around Christmas. He wasn't a grinch, but he was hardly a Christmas elf. It just wasn't something that particularly excited him after his family had been scattered across the country and he hardly spoke to any of them.

They paid for the tree and decorations, including the lights Dean insisted needed to be bought, and then hauled it all out onto the street and towards Castiel's car. It was a tall, thin tree that he had bought, something that would stand well in his apartment and not take up too much room. He was a minimalistic person, he didn't want something that would make his home feel cluttered.

Dean helped him load the box with the tree in it into the car and then stepped back as Castiel closed the trunk and sighed in relief. “I'm so glad that's over,” he grumbled.

“You're such a scrooge,” Dean laughed, nudging him lightly. Castiel shook his head and smiled, looking at the other man. Dean seemed a lot happier now, which was a relief for Castiel.

“Nah, I just don't get too excited, don't like to waste my energy,” he answered as he pulled open the driver's door.

“What're you saving it for? All that energy,” Dean asked with a small smirk. Castiel only winked in return before climbing into his car.

“See you around, Dean!” he called before shutting the door. He watched Dean out of the corner of his eye as he started up the car. The other man was leaning against a pay metre and watching him casually. Castiel felt himself flush a little as he put the car into reverse and started to back out of the space.

This man had a strange effect on him and Castiel wasn't sure if he liked it or not. He had never really felt like it before. There was a warm, fuzzy feeling that spread down to his fingers and toes as Dean waved him goodbye and he drove off.

Castiel was gradually starting to realise that he might be a little bit fucked.


	15. Fifteenth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy fluff fluff

   Castiel had had a hard day at work and was looking forward to a long, hot shower and possibly a pizza. The old Buick rumbled along as he made the drive home, the wipers clearing off the snow that was falling heavily. It was dark and the traffic was a little heavy, but Castiel didn't mind so much. At least he wasn't at work. He even had the next day off.

He was just heading down a few narrow streets to avoid traffic when he spotted a hunched figure shuffling along the sidewalk. He frowned to himself and slowed down, pulling up beside the man he thought he recognised. He was right, it was Dean. The other man stopped to look at the car, the recognition seeming to flicker over his face as his shoulders slumped and he moved towards the passenger window as Castiel rolled it down.

“Dean? What are you doing out here?” he asked curiously. The man leaned on the door and sighed, his breath clouding on the air.

“Looking for work,” he answered quietly. Castiel's frown deepened. He was a cop, he knew what kind of 'work' happened in that part of town. “For fifty bucks I'll get on my knees,” he said dryly.

Castiel sighed and leaned over to pop the door open. “Get in the car,” he ordered gently.

“That's gonna cost you fifty bucks,” Dean bit back.

“Get in the car, or I'll arrest you,” Castiel said a little more forcefully. Dean scowled at him and then slowly moved to open the door and climb in.

Castiel could feel the cold radiating from Dean, like when someone opened a door to the outside in the middle of winter and you almost smell the snow and ice on them. Dean rolled the window up and bundled himself up in the seat as Castiel cranked the heating up and set off.

“Where are we going?” Dean asked quietly after Castiel had made a few turns. He hadn't really thought all that much about it. His intention had been to take Dean back home so he could get warmed up, but maybe that was a little strange. They barely knew each other, taking Dean back with him could maybe have been a bit forward.

“I can take you to your place, if you want,” he answered after a few moments of silence.

“I don't have a place,” Dean answered. Castiel glanced across at him, his worst fears being confirmed. He had known Dean was looking a bit shabby, knew that he seemed vacant. He had thought maybe he just wasn't eating enough, but it had crossed his mind that it was possibly worse. “I could afford the rent, was behind anyway.” Dean shrugged and Castiel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as they reached a red light.

“You can come back to mine if you want, then. You need to get warmed up,” Castiel said softly. Dean looked at him for a long moment before finally nodding. He seemed to be having a big internal battle, but Castiel would win this one. He wasn't going to let Dean go back out on the streets. “I was gonna order a pizza, maybe watch some TV,” he added.

“Sounds good,” Dean said with a sigh, sounding extremely relieved. Castiel was glad. He would feel a lot better knowing that Dean was safe and warm. He looked like he hadn't eaten properly in weeks, Castiel wanted to get at least a few slices of pizza in him.

The rest of the drive to his apartment was relatively quiet. Castiel was pretty sure that Dean fell asleep at one point, his head thudding gently against the cold window of the car, his breath causing a small patch of condensation. Castiel couldn't help but glance at him at every red light. Dean was different to any person he had met before. He wasn't sure why, but if he had to explain what he liked so much about Dean he would say that his soul seemed brighter than anyone else's. It was probably the weirdest thing Castiel had ever thought, but it was the most accurate.

Dean straightened up as Castiel turned the car off, parked out on the street in front of the apartment block. “Here we are,” Castiel sighed. They both climbed out of the car and Dean stepped onto the sidewalk to look up at the building in front of them. Castiel lived in an old, converted building that had been modernised and turned into rather nice apartments. On his wages, with nothing else to really spend his money on, it was the one luxury he allowed himself.

“Looks nice,” Dean said as they started up the steps to the front door. Castiel shrugged and unlocked the door with a code, leading Dean inside into the warmth. The building was always warm, but it did rely on a 'community' warmth where everyone kept their heating turned on.

“I like it here,” he told Dean as they started up the stairs. There was an elevator, but Castiel wasn't terribly fond of it. He didn't like small spaces, especially small spaces that could get stuck and lock you inside them.

They climbed the stairs to Castiel's apartment on the top floor, a floor he shared with three other people. He was at the front of the building on the right as you looked at it, overlooking the road. He unlocked the heavy door with his keys and pushed it open, letting Dean in first. He heard the other man let out a low whistle as he closed the door and went to hang his coat up.

“Nicer than anything I've lived in,” Dean said with a small laugh.

“I don't really have many nice things,” Castiel explained as he motioned for Dean to take his shoes off. In the winter it was hard to keep the floorboards clean. “This is kinda just... my space. My nice thing.” Dean nodded as he pulled his boots off and placed them near the door. HE also removed his coat and hung it up beside Castiel's.

Dean followed him through into the lounge where everything was pretty minimalistic. There was a TV on a glass stand, a large, charcoal fabric sofa and a coffee table. The apartment was large enough but Castiel liked to keep things simple. There was a cabinet on one wall for the various awards he had received in his life, from scouts to the award for bravery he received in the force, along with a stand for his books and DVDs (the only clutter he really allowed in his home).

The apartment only had one bedroom, a small kitchen, and a bathroom as well as the lounge, but it was enough for Castiel. He spent a lot of time working, anyway. “Just take a seat,” he said with a wave towards the sofa, “I'll find us something to watch.”

He glanced over his shoulder as he knelt at the DVD stand, watching as Dean sank down onto the sofa and seemed to want to melt into it. “What sort of thing do you like?” he asked as he ran his fingers over the titles, wondering what would be a good choice.

“Action, cowboy, I dunno,” Dean answered sleepily. He had apparently almost successfully melted into the sofa and had his eyes closed. Castiel left him too it, selecting _Death Race_ from his collection and moving over to the TV. He put the disk in the player and grabbed the remote before straightening up.

He flopped down onto the sofa beside Dean and curled up, fishing for his phone in his pocket. “Pizza?”

“Anything with meat on it, no pineapple,” Dean grumbled, not opening his eyes. Castiel took that on board and set the movie up as he called up the local pizza place and waited to put in his order. A simple pepperoni pizza would surely satisfy them both.

Dean perked up a little as the movie started, opening his eyes and letting his head loll to one side so he could watch the screen. “What's it about?” he asked curiously. Castiel placed the remote on the sofa arm and got a little more comfortable.

“About a guy who goes to prison, but it's in the future and they do these death races there where they drive cars with guns and kill each other,” Castiel explained simply. The movie was about more than just that, but Dean seemed satisfied with guns, cars, and murder. He nodded approvingly and curled up in his spot, seeming to enjoy the warmth of the apartment.

They watched the movie quietly until the pizza arrived and Castiel had to pause the DVD to get up and fetch it from downstairs. When he returned to the apartment Dean was looking more alert, sitting forward and looking around the apartment. “Here,” Castiel muttered as he placed the pizza down on the coffee table and flipped the lid open. He had ordered a large one, knowing that his appetite alone would conquer a smaller meal. “Eat as much as you want, I've got other stuff in the fridge.”

Dean seemed apprehensive at first but soon took a slice and settled back as the movie started again. In the end, he ate just over half of the pizza and seemed a lot happier for it. Castiel was glad to see some colour back in his cheeks and a happy glint in his eyes.

“This movie ain't so bad,” Dean said as Statham's character got in yet another fight. Castiel laughed and nodded.

“It's one of my favourites.”

 _Death Race_ probably had twenty minutes left when Dean finally fell asleep. His body slowly went limp and he slid down to one side towards Castiel. He let the dancer lean on him, even daring to wrap an arm around his shoulders so they were both more comfortable. If anything, that only made Dean curl up closer, his face turning to press against Castiel's chest.

Castiel listened to his steady breathing, ignoring the rest of the movie as he marvelled at just how peaceful Dean was when he was asleep. His body was free of tension and the frown lines on his face were smoothed. His chest rose and fell softly with every breath and Castiel found some peace in that. It had been a long time since anyone had stayed in his apartment for more than thirty minutes, let alone fell asleep on his sofa.

Castiel was probably a bit too comfortable because it wasn't long before he was drifting off too, the warmth of Dean's body pressed against him and the hypnotic gentle breathing was enough to send Castiel into a deep, comfortable sleep. He didn't bother to think what either of them would do when they woke up, whether they would be shocked or disgusted or angry about it, because at that point he didn't care. They were both tired and they were comfortable and warm. A good rest would do them both good.


	16. Sixteenth

   Castiel woke with a slight crick in his neck and a warm weight on his chest. His mind was fuzzy and he didn't really want to move from his warm spot on the sofa. He groaned gently as he stretched his legs out and flexed his arm around the solid mass that was pressing against him. The realisation hit him fast and his eyes snapped open. Dean was still curled up, nearly completely on top of him, where they had fallen asleep on the sofa. The TV and DVD player had long gone into standby and the apartment was quiet in the dark of the early morning.

He rubbed his eyes to clear the sleep from them before slowly starting to ease himself out from under Dean. He didn't want to wake him, not yet. He thought may Dean would like some breakfast when he woke up. The other man snuffled a little and curled up on the sofa when Castiel was finally free. He looked so defenceless where he lay, nothing like the strong, independent man Castiel had met at the club.

Moving as quietly as possible, Castiel moved towards the kitchen that was separated from the lounge only by an island counter. He fished around in the fridge for some eggs and bacon and set about cooking something substantial. Scrambled eggs, bacon and toast sounded like a fantastic idea. He tugged the bread bin open and pulled out a few slices of bread for the toaster, multi-tasking efficiently as he prepared the eggs for scrambling.

The toast had just popped up when Dean finally woke. Castiel noticed him sitting up groggily on the sofa, peering around at the dim apartment, the only light being in the kitchen, and trying to get his bearings. “Morning, Dean,” Castiel called to him softly, turning back to the breakfast to start dishing it up. Dean groaned and flopped down for a moment before surfacing again and getting to his feet.

“You cooked breakfast?” he asked sleepily as he reached the counter. Castiel nodded and motioned to the plates.

“It'll be ready in a minute.”

Dean nodded and ruffled a hand through his hair. “I need a piss,” he grumbled. Apparently Dean wasn't one for politeness in the morning.

“Down the hallway, first on the left,” Castiel explained as he spooned the scrambled egg onto the plates next to the toast. Dean shuffled off to do his business, looking like he had slept for a century. When he returned, Castiel had dished the food up and set it out on the counter, where there were a pair of barstools to sit on to eat. Dean hauled himself up next to Castiel and looked down at his food.

“You really didn't have to cook,” he mumbled.

“I wanted to,” Castiel started, shoving bacon into his mouth and fishing his phone out of his pocket to check the messages on it, “besides, looks like you could do with a few good meals.” He saw Dean nod in agreement out of the corner of his eye.

“It's great Cas, thanks,” Dean said with a genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“No problem.” Castiel returned the smile and they ate their breakfast in comfortable silence.

Dean offered to clean the plates and Castiel let him. He didn't want to make Dean feel uncomfortable by treating him like royalty. He checked the message he had received from Gabriel while the other man loaded the plates into the dishwasher. It looked like Gabriel was advancing his plans for Christmas day, but was, as usual, cryptic about it. Castiel did hope he wasn't going to do anything _too_ extravagant.

“What's the plan today?” Dean asked as he came up beside Castiel where he was leaning on the counter. Castiel shrugged.

“It's my day off, I was just gonna relax for most of it,” he answered honestly. Dean nodded and sighed, checking his own phone.

“I really should go look for jobs,” he said quietly, “real jobs.” Castiel frowned at him and turned towards him a bit more, giving him his full attention.

“You're leaving?” He felt something inside him die a little. He was hoping he could at least have Dean around for the day to help him feel a bit better.

“I'll come back later,” Dean said quickly. “I just need to get myself sorted as quick as I can, y'know? Find a job, find a new place.”

Castiel guessed it was necessary. He nodded in silent agreement and straightened up from the counter. “Sure, sounds like a plan actually,” he agreed, “I'll make us something to eat for six, just be back for then.” Dean agreed and went to put his shoes and coat on. Castiel guessed he should be glad that he got to stick to his plan of doing nothing by himself for the day, but a part of him would miss Dean's company.

He watched as the other man left the apartment and then settled down on the sofa to put something on the TV and rest his aching body. He liked working in the police force, but it certainly left him exhausted sometimes. The days off were his chance to recuperate.

Castiel woke with a start at about four, the buzzer for his apartment disturbing the pleasant dream he was having about chocolate gateaux. He groaned to himself as he hauled himself from the sofa and staggered towards the intercom. “Hello?” he said groggily into the speaker.

“Hey, Cas, it's me... Dean,” came a voice on the other end. Castiel didn't say anything more, just pressed the release button and went to open the door ready for Dean. He left it propped open as he went to get himself a glass of water.

It took a few minutes for the other man to appear, looking cold again but with rosy red cheeks and a fresh smile on his face. “Hey,” he repeated his greeting as he stepped through the door and closed it behind him, starting to kick his shoes off and remove his coat.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greeted sleepily.

“Were you asleep?” the other man asked with a laugh. He yawned and nodded before drinking from his glass.

“I don't often get to enjoy prolonged amounts of sleep,” he muttered.

He watched Dean flop down onto the sofa and throw his head back, letting out a long sigh. “How did the job hunt go?” he asked as he moved to sit beside him.

“Shit,” Dean grumbled, “nowhere seems to be hiring, they're all full for Christmas.” Castiel hummed in acknowledgement and tucked his feet up under him.

“You'll find something. You can stay here until you do,” he offered calmly. Dean looked at him for a moment, those green eyes taking him in as if he was something a little alien.

“That could take weeks.”

Castiel shrugged. It wasn't like it really mattered to him. Dean could sleep on the sofa for as long as he liked. They barely knew each other, but Castiel trusted him. Besides, it wasn't like he used his apartment all that much other than to sleep in it. There was a reason it wasn't so much like a home as most places. He never really took the time to put a stamp on it, he never really needed to.

“Why are you doing this?” Dean asked after a few minutes of silence. Castiel sighed and let his head roll back, closing his eyes. He didn't really know, if he was honest.

“I guess it's nice to be nice to people,” he mumbled after a while, “maybe one day the favour will be returned. I'm a believer in karma, that the actions we make are returned in kind.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Also I guess we might be friends.” He heard Dean laugh at that but didn't open his eyes.

“Friends who give each other erotic dances,” Dean corrected with amusement. Castiel smirked at that.

“Surely that's where all the best friendships start.”

They relaxed until it was time for Castiel to come them some dinner. He gathered that Dean had been sleeping in his car while he was out of his apartment, so at least he wasn't sleeping on the streets. He guessed such an old car, a '67 Impala as Dean proudly told him, would still be pretty cold at night. But at least it had seats to lay on. Dean told him that it had been a rush to leave the apartment. The landlord wasn't a nice man, hammering on the door to make him leave so he could make sure the next tenant moved in as fast as possible.

Dean told him that he had a pet cat, and she had gone to his brother's house temporarily until Dean could take her back or she could be rehomed. Castiel felt sad about the prospect of Dean losing his pet. He talked very fondly of her and seemed genuinely upset that she wasn't in his life right then. Castiel had a soft spot for cats, he had to admit, and he wondered whether he should offer to take her in for Dean. Maybe that wasn't his place, but it was something to think about.

It sounded like Dean had taken as many possessions as he could, cramming a lot into the trunk of his car and sending some off with his brother. It still seemed like he had lost a lot. Dean told him how he had managed to rescue his acoustic guitar as Castiel started on the food. One thing he did enjoy was cooking, and he settled on some 'gourmet' burgers for that night.

Dean watched him from the island counter as he fried the beef burgers, along with some bacon. It didn't take long for them to cook, and then he was stacking them inside buns. Beef, bacon and a generous amount of cheese. He added in some fresh lettuce, just because you _really should_ balance out all that greasy food with something health, and tomato before being satisfied with the result.

It looked like Dean's mouth was watering as Castiel transferred the plates to the island counter and smirked at him. “My speciality,” he said with a grin. Dean moaned a little, in a way that made something stir in Castiel's stomach, and nodded in agreement.

“They look amazing,” he managed to say as he drew his plate towards him. Castiel watched with a smile on his face as Dean tucked in, making orgasmic noises as he chewed over the burger. It was downright indecent, but it made Castiel laugh.

“They're not _that_ good,” he chuckled. Dean shook his head in disagreement.

“They're fantastic. I mean I make good burgers, but _man_ these are good,” he said through a mouthful of food.

Castiel had to say that Dean was quite endearing. He might have had very few manners and he might not have given a shit about social norms, but Castiel liked that in him. He was rough around the edges, not worn down by society. There was something about him that was just _Dean_ and Castiel thought, and hoped, that maybe nothing would change that.

They returned to the sofa after eating, and after Castiel had stuck the plates in the dishwasher and set it to wash the dirty dishes from the day. Dean made a satisfied humming sound as he sank down and patted his stomach. “I'm not going anywhere, stayin' here forever,” he mumbled. Castiel laughed and plopped down next to him, feeling like his spirits had been lifted after months of being low. Maybe all he had ever needed was good company, something he didn't really have in his life.

“You stay until you get a job,” Castiel said with a small kick to Dean's leg.

“Never getting' a job,” Dean said with a smirk, his eyes closed and he slouched in his seat. Castiel laughed and flicked the TV, aiming to enjoy another few hours of peace and quiet. He liked to be lazy on these days, it was the only chance he got.

“Cas?” Dean said quietly halfway through a programme on TV.

“Mm?” he replied, in a bit of a stupor as he watched the images move and didn't really take in what was happening. It was some sort of documentary on geese or something.

“Why did you really take me in?”

Castiel woke himself up a bit, rolling his head to look at Dean and frowning. “I already told you,” he said, confused. Dean sighed and sat up.

“Yeah I just... I owe you big time.”

Castiel shook his head and sat up too, a frown creasing his forehead as he tried to get his brain to work. “You owe me nothing,” he argued, “it was my fault you lost your job in the first place, if anything this is me paying you back.”

Dean didn't seem to accept that, shifting uncomfortably. “People lose their jobs all the time, Cas. I'd have been fine.”

“Didn't seem like it.”

He watched Dean's shoulders slump and then sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes to get rid of the drowsiness.

“Really, Cas,” Dean pushed, “you didn't have to do any of this. It's not your job. I'm... I'm really grateful.”

Castiel didn't realise at first that Dean was edging closer. There was a sense of anticipation in the air and he felt his heartbeat rise to meet it. A huge conflict started to rage inside him, one half of him wanting Dean to come closer and closer, and the other half saying that it just wasn't right. He would be taking advantage. It wasn't honest. “Dean, I-”

He didn't get to finish his sentence as Dean pressed his lips to Castiel's firmly, warm and confident. Castiel closed his eyes instinctively, even dared to press a hand to the back of Dean's head, but the battle still went on inside. It felt so right, so good, and yet something told him that might not be the case for Dean. Deep down he thought that maybe this was just Dean's way of paying a debt. This was just what Dean did.

Castiel reluctantly broke the kiss, meeting Dean's confused eyes as they parted a little. “Dean... I can't,” he said quietly, letting his fingers run gently through the short hairs at the back of Dean's head.

“You... you uh... have a girlfriend?” Dean seemed hurt but didn't pull away. Castiel frowned at him and then shook his head, letting out a long sigh.

“No. It just doesn't feel right, not right now,” he muttered. Dean started to pull away, his intoxicating warmth leaving with him. Castiel immediately felt bad. The atmosphere of the room tipped and altered, feeling sour and cold. “I'm... I'm just gonna go to bed,” he said weakly after a moment of awkward silence.

Dean didn't respond as Castiel got to his feet and retreated to his room. He tried not to look back. He knew if he looked back then he would turn around and he wouldn't leave Dean's side. This was best until he knew what was really going on with Dean. He certainly did not want to take advantage of someone in a weak situation. Maybe when Dean had a job, and a place to live. Maybe when he knew Dean didn't _need_ his support.

All Castiel could do was hope that would be soon, because his gut and his crotch were telling him that _now_ was a great time to pin Dean to a wall.


	17. Seventeenth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back up to date again!  
> Don't worry, I think this is the last depressing chapter! Bear with!
> 
> Things have to get miserable before they get good :)

   Dean barely slept. He woke in the morning feeling like death warmed up and he knew why. He had made a fool of himself. He had advanced on someone who didn't want it and he had been rejected. He guessed there was a reason he was in his line of work, at least he knew what his clients wanted. But Castiel was like a complex book, and Dean was yet to read all the pages carefully.

He couldn't stay in that apartment. He had to get out of there. He got up from the sofa and quietly made his way to the door, pulling his shoes and coat on quickly. There were no signs of life from Cas and he took his chance to leave to prevent more embarrassment. It wasn't just that, Dean had to admit. He didn't understand why Cas had refused him in the first place. It didn't feel right, or something? Dean was confused and maybe a little angry. How much more right could it feel? The room had basically been on fire.

He decided that if he was going to ponder such things then he certainly needed to get away. He left as quietly as he could, heading down the steps of the apartment block and letting himself out the front door. He would go to Charlie's for a bit, or Jo's, and try to forget it. That or, the more likely option, he would dwell on it all day until he totally hated himself.

~*~

Castiel woke with his alarm a eleven, sleepily turning off the buzzing clock and rolling over in bed. He had work that afternoon. He had been sleeping for a long time, catching up on the late nights and the running around. As he lay there in bed, contemplating how much he didn't want to be awake, the events of the previous night started to come back to him.

He was reluctant to get out of bed and check the living room, but he did so anyway. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved to find the apartment empty. At least he didn't have to worry about keeping Dean there against his will. He rubbed at his eyes and went to grab a shower, feeling the need to finally get ready for work.

It was probably going to be a slow day. Uriel was off sick, which meant he had a stand-in partner. It was a young man he had spoken to quite a lot, his name was Kevin and he was one of the most promising officers to recently join the force. Castiel was sure they would have a pleasant time in the car as they scouted out the known drug dealing locations, Kevin was good to talk to and was more enthusiastic about life in general than Uriel was.

They hadn't been given a new assignment yet, but Castiel had been doing some digging of his own in his spare time. He knew there was a mole in the department and he was determined to find out who it was. He had been asking around, looking into personal histories, and he had a small list of suspects. All he had to do was narrow them down a bit and then maybe hand it in to his supervisor.

He pondered over his list as Kevin talked to him about a TV show he was interested in. They were heading out towards a district not far from the recently closed _Demonify_ to see if there was any activity they could get in on. Castiel barely stood any chance in the drug ring now, his face known to many, but maybe they could dig out a drug dealer if they were lucky.

They were pulled up at the side of the road, waiting for something remotely interesting, as the snow started to fall heavier. Castiel and Kevin sat in silence, watching the street around them. Castiel was distracted, he would admit that. He had been distracted since he had woken up to an empty apartment. He would like to say it didn't bother him, but it did. He had hoped to be able to explain to Dean properly, but now he wasn't even sure if he would see the other man again.

There was a loud clatter nearby and both Castiel and Kevin perked up. It could have been nothing, just a cat or something causing trouble, but they both agreed to check it out. The pair climbed out into the snow and started to walk cautiously in the direction of the noise. It had come from a dark alley a bit behind where they had parked the car. Castiel took the lead, unclipping his gun and resting his hand on it as they carefully made their way over the slippery surface.

The alley appeared empty and Castiel started to let his guard down. He spotted a cat dark across their path in the shadows and sighed. It looked like it was all a false alarm. It was probably going to be another quiet night. He rubbed his face with his hand, letting his guard down at probably the worst time.

He heard Kevin shout out and jerked to look around at his partner. The movement was probably the thing that saved his life. He felt the burning first, his flesh searing in his arm. He cried out and spun back around, drawing his gun as quickly as he could as he felt warm liquid start to ooze down his arm.

The culprit was stood a few feet away with a gun aimed at him. It was too dark to make out his face, and Castiel's vision was going blurry with pain. The bullet wound was starting to hurt a lot, the initial shock of it fading to leave him in agony. There was another loud bang, but the flash came from behind him and Castiel realised, as his ears started to ring, that Kevin was firing back.

The dark figure started to move, turning to bolt away as Kevin fired several quick shots after him. Castiel watched, disorientated, as he clutched his arm. He had been shot before, but that didn't stop it hurting so much. He motioned for Kevin to take up the chase, not wanting to let someone get away with firing a weapon at a police officer.

Kevin set off at a sprint, leaving Castiel to fall down to his knees in the alley. His arm was bleeding a lot, dripping onto the white snow and turning it red. Castiel inspected it carefully, peeling his jacket off to give him better access. He ignored the cold bite of the winter air as he peered down in the dim light at the wound.

It was shallow, a through and through to the very side of his arm, through a part that was a little fatty, but it would be sore and it would need stitches. Luckily it didn't seem to have hit anything vital. His muscles seemed to be working fine and it had missed his bones. It would hurt like a bitch but he was sure he wouldn't be hospitalised for long.

That being said, the world started to go blurry after a while as the shock settled in. He clutched at his arm and looked down to where the blood was staining the snow. In the distance he heard more gunshots, a quick succession from two weapons before silence. All he wanted to do was get up and check if Kevin was okay, but any attempt to stand was futile. He felt weak and a little nauseous, his arm throbbing with pain and his head clouding up.

He wasn't sure how long it was until Kevin reappeared, out of breath but otherwise unharmed. “He had a getaway car,” he panted as he looked down at Castiel. “Oh... oh my God... are you okay?” There was a lot of blood, but Castiel was sure he would be fine. He nodded and winced, trying to get to his feet. Kevin quickly helped him, gently hooking an arm under Castiel's good arm and hauling him up to his feet.

“I need to get to a hospital,” Castiel managed to say, swallowing around the pain and closing his eyes. “Need stitches.”

Kevin helped him to the car where they tied a belt around Castiel's arm to stop the bleeding a bit. Castiel kept as much pressure on the wound as he could, using his coat, as Kevin climbed into the driver's seat and started up the engine. He fought to keep consciousness, the pain burning hot and taking over his brain. He was stupid, so stupid. He had been distracted and he hadn't paid attention to the clear signs. He was better than this, so much better. Kevin's shout had saved his life, the bullet could have hit his chest if he hadn't have turned at that point.

Kevin rushed him to the hospital, looking pale and more than a little freaked out. He was new to the force, he had probably never seen someone get shot before. Castiel thought maybe he should comfort him, but that was as far as his thoughts got, the pain fogging his mind up. He was vaguely aware of when they reached the hospital and he was laid on a stretcher. He was tired and the shock had set in. He hadn't lost too much blood, he knew that, and he knew it wasn't incredibly serious. He was just so _tired._

Maybe he had pushed himself too hard. Maybe he needed to stop working so much and take more time at home to relax. Maybe he needed someone in his life to help him wind down. He had no idea why a simple bullet wound had drained him so much, but it felt like a release of all the exhaustion and the tension he had been building up. He was better than to pass out on the hospital stretcher, but he let himself slip into unconsciousness as the nurses tended to the wound.

It was just a graze. He would be fine, he was sure.


	18. Eighteenth

   Dean woke up on Charlie's sofa feeling a little worse for wear. They may have drank a bit the previous night, judging by the bottles lying around, and Dean struggled to remember the whole set of events. At least he knew he hadn't done anything disastrous in the bedroom. Charlie wasn't exactly into that type of human being.

He groaned and slowly sat up, feeling the world spin around him and wishing he hadn't had that last shot of tequila the night before. Coffee, that was what he needed. He had spent enough time at Charlie's to know his way around her kitchen and he was soon watching the coffee machine do its job as he tried to remember why he was actually angry in the first place.

Leaving Cas' apartment like that and coming to Charlie's had given Dean the space to realise that actually he had overreacted. Now he thought about it, Cas had probably just been doing what he thought was right at the time. Or maybe he really wasn't interested, Dean wasn't totally sure. He decided to go with the first option for now so maybe he could go around there and muster up an apology. He would go around later, see if Cas was in.

He glanced up from the coffee machine as he heard a bedroom door and shuffling footsteps. Charlie appeared with messy hair and a t-shirt that was miles too big for her, a shirt Dean recognised as the one that had gone missing from his apartment weeks ago. “That's my shirt,” he said blankly. Charlie stopped and stared at him, a frown crinkling at her brow as she squinted a little at him.

“I needed something else to wear to bed,” she answered simply.

“Thief,” Dean grumbled, taking his coffee from the machine.

Charlie shuffled into the kitchen to start making herself some breakfast, Dean moving to one side to be out of her way. “I need you to make yourself scarce soon,” she said as she threw some bread in the toaster, “Gilda's coming over, I promised her we'd marathon _Lord of the Rings_.”

Dean sighed and nodded. Staying at Charlie's had only been a very short term thing. There was a reason he didn't want to stay with his friends, they all had lives and he didn't want to interrupt them. “I'll head off soon. Gotta go make my apologies anyway,” he muttered before drinking his coffee. He just hoped Cas wouldn't be at work yet.

Dean headed out, as promised, when he had finished his coffee. He was glad that he had made the time to go and pick his car up the previous day, even if she was then covered in snow over night. He grumpily cleared off as much as he could, his hands going numb from the cold, as he left the engine running to warm up the car inside. If the snow got much worse, it would make doing anything impossible.

The Impala was full of Dean's belongings, overflowing onto the back seat and looking a bit of a mess. Dean swore he would tidy it as soon as he could, but for now it was impossible. It was a slow crawl in bad traffic and on icy roads back to Cas' apartment. The car wasn't parked outside, and Dean felt a little disappointment. It looked like Cas wasn't around, but it wouldn't hurt to buzz his apartment anyway.

He climbed the steps to the front door and pressed the button next to Cas' apartment number. He didn't expect the phone to be picked up in the apartment. “ _Hello?_ ” It was a different voice and Dean frowned. Something really wasn't sitting right.

“Hey, I'm here to uh... I'm here to see Cas.” There was a sigh on the other end of the intercom before the voice spoke again.

“ _Come on up,_ ” he said before buzzing Dean into the block.

Dean felt a sense of dread as he climbed the stairs. Who was in Cas' apartment? Cas was clearly at work, his car was gone, but someone was still here. Did he have a partner? Dean's mind went in circles as he knocked on the apartment door. It soon opened to reveal a smaller man with quite long, blond hair and clothes that were too big for him. He looked drawn out and tired and Dean's concern only grew.

“Who are you? Where's Cas?” Dean asked cautiously. The man ran a hand through his hair and looked genuinely upset. The fear in Dean started to bubble over. What had happened?

“I'm... I'm his brother, Gabriel,” the man said, moving into the apartment to sit on the arm of the sofa, “Castiel was... he got shot yesterday.” Dean felt his heart drop through his stomach and then lurch up to his throat, lodging there and making it hard to breathe. His mind immediately jumped to the worst.

“S-shot?”

Gabriel nodded and clasped his hands in his lap, looking at Dean with a little more scrutiny now. “Are you that dancer guy he was talking about?” Dean wasn't aware Cas had said a word about him, but he supposed he was 'that dancer guy' and nodded slowly. “He seems to like you, which is weird for him. He's at the hospital now,” Gabriel explained.

Relief flooded into Dean. So Cas was still alive, that was a good start. “Is he uh... is he okay?” He was relieved to be met with a nod from Gabriel.

“He'll live, just in a bit of pain I think. I can tell you where to go if you want to see him.”

Dean gladly took the directions from Gabriel about Cas' location in the hospital. He set off as quickly as he could, ignoring the throbbing of the bruises on his ribs as he took the steps two at a time and jogged to his car. The drive to the hospital seemed to take hours in the icy conditions, and Dean was glad when he was finally entering the building.

Gabriel's directions had been pretty clear. Dean took the elevator up to the right floor and asked at the reception for Castiel Novak. He was directed down a few corridors until he reached the right room. He held his breath a little as he pushed he door open quietly. Gabriel had said the gunshot wound wasn't too bad, but Dean wasn't sure what to expect on the other side of the door.

Cas was actually sat up in bed. The only machinery attached to him was a heart monitor and an IV for his fluids and pain relief. A smile spread across Cas' face as he looked up to see Dean. His arm was in a sling and Dean could see the bandaging around the wound. It seemed Cas had really gotten off lucky. “Hello, Dean,” Cas said as he adjusted and then rested back on his pillows.

“Hey,” Dean greeted warmly as he shut the door behind him and made his way over to the bed. “What happened?” He took a seat beside Cas, feeling a little at loss about what to do. He hated hospitals, he always had.

“Some guy just... came out of nowhere, I didn't see him,” Cas answered quietly, “Kevin, the guy I was with said... said it looked like someone he knew but I don't know. Just got shot.”

“No shit,” Dean mumbled, earning a small laugh from Cas. He seemed alert enough, the only obvious damage being his left arm. “Gabriel filled me in. How long are you gonna be in here?”

“I'd have been out today if I hadn't passed out,” Cas answered with a sigh, “they're worried I lost a bit too much blood, I don't know why but they want to keep me in another night.”

“Probably to charge you more.” Cas nodded at that in agreement and hummed, reaching for his glass of water on the table beside the bed. Dean quickly helped him, picking the glass up to bring it closer to him.

“Thanks,” Cas muttered before taking a few sips from it, “my throat feels like sandpaper. I only woke up a bit ago. They also, in their wisdom, think I was suffering from exhaustion anyway.” Dean said nothing. He wasn't one to judge if Cas was working too hard when he himself had been pushing himself to the limits.

Dean decided to sit with him for a while, curling himself up in the chair and listening to Cas' account of what had happened. It sounded like he remembered most of it, but it was still a blur. Cas thought it could be the mole that Crowley had in the department, explained that it could easily have been a trap. The man Kevin thought he saw also appeared on Cas' list of suspects, and if Kevin was right then that suggested Cas had been getting close.

The nurse came to change his bandages as he finished his account of what had happened. As he let the lady peel away the old dressing, he turned his head to Dean. “Hey, you can go back to mine if you want, get some rest. You look like hell,” he offered. Dean snorted a little at that, bowing his head with a grin.

“I may have been coerced into a drinking game with a valiant opponent,” Dean explained, rubbing the back of his neck, “she totally won.” Cas raised an eyebrow and Dean saw his smile fade a little. He recognised that expression, one he had worn himself before, and pushed a grin onto his face. “But yeah, I'll go back to yours. Charlie says I can't go to hers because her girlfriend is going over for a movie marathon.”

He enjoyed the genuine look of glee that came onto Cas' face. “Great, Gabriel will let you in but,” he paused and frustrated the nurse by leaning down to reach into a bag beside the bed, fumbling for a moment before bringing out a key, “here's the key to my apartment, and the code for the door is 9317.” Dean nodded, taking the key and making a mental note of the number.

“You want picking up tomorrow?” he asked as he started to stand up. Cas grinned up at him and nodded.

“Definitely. I'm sure your driving is preferable to Gabriel's.”

“I wouldn't be so confident on that,” Dean laughed, motioning to a pen on the bedside table, “got something I can write my number on?”

Cas had nothing, but the nurse tore a piece of paper out of a small notepad she was carrying and Dean scrawled his phone number on it. He handed it to Cas, who stored it safely in his bag. “Just gimme a call when you want me to come,” Dean instructed before starting to head towards the door.

“Will do,” Cas answered with a small wave, “see you tomorrow, Dean.”

Dean left the hospital feeling a lot lighter than he had that morning. Cas was okay and Dean had somewhere to stay that night. He guessed he quite liked Cas' apartment. Maybe it was the clean smell mixed with the faint aroma of incense, or the orderly fashion of everything he owned, but Dean found it all relaxing.

He headed back to the apartment, finding Gabriel was just about to leave when he got there and was all too eager to pry a little into why Dean was so concerned for Cas. Dean only answered that they were friends, that he owed Cas, that it was just temporary. Gabriel seemed to have other ideas, but Dean ignored the lewd way in which he wriggled his eyebrows.

They eventually parted ways and Dean headed up to Cas' apartment, letting himself in and taking his shoes off at the door. It didn't take him long to flop down on the sofa and make himself comfortable, falling asleep some time halfway through a cowboy movie.


	19. Nineteenth

   It was noon before the doctor finally came around to do her final checks on Castiel and discharge him. He dropped a message to Dean's phone as he let a nurse take his blood pressure and the doctor told him how he had to take it easy for a while so he didn't do any more damage to the wound. He knew how to handle a bullet wound, it wasn't like this was the first time he had been shot.

He was dressed and ready to leave by the time Dean arrived. The other man greeted him warmly and offered to push the obligatory wheelchair from the hospital. “How's the arm?” Dean asked as they waited for the elevator. Castiel hated the things, but he guessed he had no choice.

“Hurts a lot,” he muttered in response, “but they've given me some pain meds and I don't have to have a check up for a while.” He shrugged with one shoulder and watched the elevator doors open. Dean was careful not to knock him as he wheeled him into the small room. “Did you get some rest?” he asked as the doors slid closed and the elevator started to move.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean sighed, “it was nice to have somewhere warm to sleep.”

Castiel was glad of that. Dean had been through a lot lately and Castiel just wanted to make things a little bit easier for him. He still partly blamed himself for what had happened to the club and to Dean, but he guessed there was nothing that could be done now other than try to fix things, try to help things get better.

He was glad when they reached the front doors of the hospital and he could finally get out of the wheelchair and walk the rest of the way. Dean stayed at his side, carrying his small overnight bag for him. There was a dull throbbing in his arm where the wound was, but other than that he felt fine. The doctor said he shouldn't work so hard, that he should take more care of himself. Castiel didn't have time for things like that.

Dean's car was an impressive thing. As they reached it Castiel took it in and nodded in approval. “It's a very nice car,” he commented as he slowly walked around to the passenger side. Dean beamed with pride and opened the door for him.

“Thanks, she's been in our family for years, it's the one nice thing my dad gave me,” he explained as he helped Castiel into the car. It was a little awkward climbing into the seat with his arm strapped up, but Dean made sure he was comfortable and fastened in before offering him his bag to hold.

It was a comfortable ride and Castiel had been right to think that Dean's driving was better than Gabriel's. He seemed comfortable behind the wheel of the car, relaxed back as he took his time on the icy roads. “The weather's cleared up,” Castiel commented as he peered out the window to his side. The car's heaters were turned right up to keep them warm, but it was still a little cold.

“Meant to get worse again soon,” Dean muttered, “got some rain coming in.” Rain and the cold, that was bound to be fantastic. It would just make the roads more icy. At least Castiel didn't have to worry too much, it wasn't like he would be driving anywhere.

After being in the hospital, Castiel was glad to see his apartment block. He let Dean take the bag from him and eased himself out of the car. The sidewalk was a little icy but he didn't take Dean's offer of support. They made their way inside and took their time up the steps to the top floor. It was warm and welcoming in the building and Castiel thought he might start to appreciate the idea of 'home' after being in the hospital again. The food was horrible there and at night it was just downright creepy.

Dean still had the key to the apartment and unlocked the door, letting Castiel go in first. If anything, the apartment was even tidier than when he had left it. It seemed like Dean had straightened up a few things, tidied up some papers and dusted down the surfaces. Other than the spare pillow on the sofa, it was impossible to tell that Dean had been crashing there.

“I can make you something to eat, if you want,” Dean offered as Castiel sank down onto his sofa. It made a nice change to the hospital bed.

“I'd love that,” he said with a heavy sigh. He had forgotten that he wouldn't be able to do simple things like cook and clean, or even wash himself properly, for a little while. It seemed like maybe Dean was going to be the one helping him and not the other way around.

“Great, I'll make us some pasta.”

When Dean said 'pasta', Castiel later found out, he really meant an exquisite blend of organic pasta (that had maybe been floating around a cupboard for a few months), cheese, herbs and chicken. Castiel had to say it tasted amazing, and it was something he could just eat with a fork. He could see Dean watching him out of the corner of his eye. The big, proud grin didn't go unnoticed by Castiel. “It's fantastic,” he said after swallowing another mouthful.

“Good. It's one of my favourites,” Dean said, turning his attention to his own food and starting to eat.

The meal filled Castiel up, making him feel satiated and happy as he passed Dean his bowl and spread out a little on the sofa. He listened to Dean moving about in the kitchen, putting the plates in the dishwasher and tidying up after himself. It was somewhat of a comfort. Castiel had been alone for as long as he could remember. It was rare he had relations with anyone, let alone let them into his apartment. He guessed he only liked to get close to people he trusted, and that wasn't many. Sure, he had flings with men now and then, but he never got close.

Having another presence in the apartment actually put Castiel at ease. It was like Dean's warmth was radiating out and wrapping him up. Maybe Castiel was just thinking a lot of nonsense, or maybe it all meant something. He was medicated, after all.

The rest of the day proved harder than anticipated. The last time Castiel had been shot, it had been to the abdomen. He had been lucky to survive but at least he had had two functioning arms. He couldn't get changed, he couldn't have a shower, and he couldn't do basic things like use a knife and fork.

By the time it came to having his last dose of medication and getting ready for bed, Castiel was entirely frustrated. Dean had been patient and kind to him all day, despite his foul temper, and that didn't change as he offered to help Castiel get out of his clothes for bed. “It's not like I'm gonna see you naked,” he muttered as Castiel agreed and they headed down the hall to the bedroom, “and I've seen worse in my line of work.”

Castiel guessed a mostly naked man wasn't the most horrifying thing Dean had encountered. Besides, he trusted Dean. Since the event a few nights ago, he had been respectful and kept his distance. He was glad of this. He wasn't totally sure that he would be able to stop himself if Dean tried the same again. He wasn't entirely sure he could stop himself _then_ as Dean started to help him out of his sling.

He was gentle and soft, being careful not to hurt Castiel's arm at all. He went at a slow pace and made sure that it was all done correctly. Castiel barely felt any pain at all, which was more than he would have been able to say if he had done it himself. As Dean started to unbutton his shirt for him, he felt his heart rate quicken. His fingers brushed lightly against his chest now and then, sending sharp bolts of electricity through his veins.

The air felt too heavy, catching in his lungs as he watched Dean's fingers work down his shirt. The dancer went on to carefully peel it off from his shoulders, avoiding putting any pressure on the wound, until Castiel was shirtless. He was stood bare in front of Dean, and Dean hardly seemed to care. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or offended by that.

He was, admittedly, a little surprised when Dean went straight to unbuttoning his jeans to help him out of those too. He willed any arousal to stay away until he was alone, concentrating on less erotic things than the exotic dancer that was undressing him. Like Uriel in a clown outfit.

He felt like he should do something after Dean helped him step out of his jeans. It was as if there was an open end that needed completing. Before he could even make a move, though, Dean was heading to the door. “I'll see you in the morning,” he said quietly as he hovered at the door, “let me know if you need anything.” Castiel nodded mutely and watched as Dean left, leaving him stood in his boxers in the middle of his bedroom with half an erection.

He eased himself into bed carefully and curled up on his good shoulder under the comforter. His pain medication was making him drowsy and he was warm and comfortable in bed. He wasn't sure if it was the medicine or the unattended arousal that gave him the bizarre, erotic dreams that made him wake up in the middle of the night with a raging erection and a sticky mess on his stomach, however.


	20. Twentieth

   Castiel received a call, not long after he woke up, from Kevin, who provided him with an unwanted reminder of the Policeman's Ball that was coming up the next night. “ _Please tell me you're going, Castiel_ ,” the younger man pleaded on the other end of the phone, “ _I hardly know anyone and if you don't go then I'm stuck with Uriel._ ”

Castiel sighed and let his head fall back against the arm of the sofa, where he was laid after being instructed to do absolutely nothing while Dean made some breakfast. “I can't, I already told you I wasn't going and now... now with my arm.”

“ _It'll be fine, just wear your sling or something._ ”

Parties weren't Castiel's thing. He didn't like busy atmospheres, he didn't like socialising, and he certainly didn't like doing it alone. A few of his lady friends from the department had said they would go with him but that wasn't the point. He hardly knew them and they certainly didn't know him. The night definitely wouldn't be any fun. Everyone would go with their wives and husbands and he would be alone.

He glanced up as Dean came over to him with his breakfast on a plate, easy to eat toast with scrambled egg. An idea sprung into his head. “Let me call you back, Kevin,” he said quickly before hanging up and taking his food.

“What was that about?” Dean asked curiously as Castiel moved his feet to make room for him on the sofa and he sat down with his own breakfast.

“There's a uh... a ball tomorrow night, a party,” he answered with a half shrug, folding his toast around his eggs so he could eat it easier.

“You're not going?”

Castiel shook his head. “I don't want to go alone,” he explained.

“Does everyone have someone to go with?” Dean genuinely seemed curious, tucking his legs up onto the sofa so he was facing Castiel. He nodded and took a bite from his food. Formal events made him uncomfortable at the best of times, without it also involving having someone to go with. It was a ball, a thing where people took their significant others. The perfect family types with the partner and 2.4 kids. The type which, obviously, Castiel was not.

“I don't suppose you want to go?” Castiel said, half-jokingly. Part of him hoped Dean said yes, the other part hoped that he would get to curl up and do nothing the next night and wouldn't have to don the suit.

“It's not really my sort of thing,” Dean said with a laugh, “it'd be like you taking an escort or... a hooker or something.” Castiel wasn't sure whether he should have been pleased or disappointed that Dean didn't want to go, but he knew he was angry that the other man saw himself that way.

“You do what you need to do to get by,” he said firmly, “no one should ever judge you for that.” He paused and looked down at his food. It was delicious. Something Dean had done to the eggs just made them taste so good. “I'd be honoured to take you with me.”

He felt Dean go still, not looking up at him as he waited for a response. “If... if it's something you'd like to do,” Dean said quietly, “I'm sure it wouldn't be _that_ bad.” That would remain to be seen, but Castiel smiled broadly and met Dean's eyes. His smile was reflected by the other man and Castiel could actually believe that maybe the ball would be tolerable.

The one thing Dean said he had never had in his life was a suit. If they were going to go to the ball, Castiel had to make sure they both looked presentable. They were going to cause a stir, he could just feel it, but he found himself not caring. At least they'd look amazing while everyone was staring at them. They headed into town after breakfast, and after Dean had helped Castiel get dressed properly (awkwardly), to have a browse around the shops for a suit.

Something tailored would look best. It wasn't like money was a huge issue to Castiel. He never had anything to spend his money on, and it always just built up in his bank until he needed it, which was rare. Castiel sat on a chair in the suit shop Dean liked the look of the best (it was actually one of the cheapest) as the other man was measured in every way imaginable.

The tailor found a selection of suits that would fit, and Dean chose three to try on. The first was grey with a slight sheen to it. It was a nice suit, but it wasn't really Dean's style. “It doesn't suit your features,” Castiel said as Dean stepped out of the changing room. What he wanted to say was ' _it detracts from the beauty of your features_ ' but he was pretty sure that was probably too forward.

Dean rolled his eyes a little but smiled, heading back into the changing room. He came back out five minutes later in the dark blue suit. “No,” Castiel said immediately. Dean laughed and spread his arms out.

“What, too colourful for you?” he joked.

“Too bright,” Castiel chuckled, “you look like... like the tenth Doctor or something.” Dean cracked up at that and slipped back into the changing room.

Castiel hoped the next one was a success or they'd be back at square one. They had already been in the shop for nearly an hour. He tapped his foot as he waited, flexing the fingers of his injured arm to keep the circulation going. Having his arm always in one position gave him cramps and made his fingers tingle all the time, he was really starting to get annoyed with it.

When Dean reappeared again, Castiel knew that this one was _definitely_ the right one. It was smart and black, snug and well fitting. It looked like it was made for Dean, complementing his every feature.

“That one,” Castiel said simply. Dean looked down at the suit and smoothed his hands over it. It was a nice fabric and had a red, satin lining inside.

“It is kinda nice,” he agreed as he turned to look in the nearby mirror. “Bit pricey though.”

“Doesn't matter,” Castiel muttered as he looked to the tailor, “does it need adjusting?”

“Just a bit. I can have it tailored to fit by tomorrow morning,” the tailor said with a smile.

“That one, then,” Castiel said, standing up from his seat. The tailor nodded and motioned for Dean to go and get changed.

After Dean was back in his normal clothes, they had selected matching ties (just to be classy), and Castiel had paid in full for the suit so Dean could simply go and pick it up the next day, they started back towards the car. They were passing a jewellery store when Castiel got an idea. “Just wait here, I want to get something extra for my sister,” he said quickly, guiding Dean to stand at the front of the store.

Dean gave him a quizzical look but did as he was told, standing and waiting as Castiel slipped inside. He wanted to get Dean something nice, something a little special and practical. He didn't have much now that he had been kicked out of his apartment, and Castiel wanted to treat him with something.

He emerged from the shop with a bag in his hand, the gift pre-wrapped so Dean couldn't even have a peek at what it was. They headed back home, Castiel redirecting Dean's curiosity about the present to other topics.

Castiel thought that maybe they could handle the ball. They got along and Castiel enjoyed Dean's company. He had no idea how the department would take it, not many knew of his orientation, but he was starting to not particularly care.


	21. Twenty-First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes up for it all :P

   Castiel was determined to get himself dressed for the ball, only letting Dean take the sling off for him. He struggled out of his every day clothes and then stood in his bedroom looking at the suit that was laid on his bed. It was smart and black, and he had had it for quite a while. He never really wore it much, but at least he had a suit for all occasions.

The shirt was a little awkward to put on, but at least he didn't have to manoeuvre too much, slipping his injured arm in first before hooking his other arm in and fastening the buttons up slowly. He went on to carefully pulled the pants on, trying not to put any strain on his left arm. They still fitted snugly, so at least he hadn't put on too much weight. He tucked his shirt in, fastened up his pants and then looked at the tie on the bed.

Castiel had bought them matching ties, both a deep red with an embroided floral pattern. He had thought they would go nicely with the red inside of Dean's suit jacket. He fastened his top button, popped his collar up, and rested the tie around his neck.

After several attempts at tying the fabric, he was getting incredibly frustrated. A knock at the door startled him. “Cas? You okay in there?” Dean said from the other side of the door. Castiel sighed in frustration and let his arms drop to his sides, flinching at the pain.

“Yeah... I mean... no. I can't- my tie,” he answered, defeated. Dean slowly opened the door and peered in.

“Want me to do it for you?” Castiel nodded silently, watching as Dean moved into the room. He had been to pick up his suit that morning and select some shoes to go with it, and had already put it all on. The alterations made it fit him even better and Castiel couldn't take his eyes off him. The deep red tie around his neck was neat and tucked tidily into his suit jacket, the glint of cuff-links visible under his sleeves. He smelled incredible too, and the scent was intoxicating as Dean came close to adjust the two sides of the tie and start to wrap it around itself.

Dean managed to tie it quickly and neatly, leaving Castiel to tuck it under his jacket and fasten up the buttons. “Do you want your sling on?” he asked, picking it up from the bed where he had put it earlier.

“Can we just bring it with us, in case?” Castiel said quietly. He didn't want to be wearing the sling all night, it hurt his neck and made his fingers go numb. “I'll just take it easy with my arm.” Dean nodded gently and folded the sling up, sliding it into his inside jacket pocket.

“Just let me know if you need it.” He turned and headed out of the room, Castiel following him. “We better get off soon if we want to be there in time, that snow's started again,” Dean grumbled as he went to his coat to fish his car keys from his pocket.

“Yeah, I've got something for you before we go, though,” Castiel said quickly, turning to the cabinet against the wall and pulling the present he had bought from down the side of it.

“I thought you said that was for your sister,” Dean muttered with a frown, moving over to Castiel slowly.

“I lied. Here.” He handed the smart bag containing the wrapped gift over to Dean.

Dean took it tentatively and pulled the present out from its bag. Castiel watched as the other man started to unwrap it, carefully peeling away the wrapping paper to reveal the small box inside. Dean opened it to reveal a watch sitting around a plush cushion inside. It wasn't the most expensive watch in the world, but it was good looking and it was practical. It had a smart, leather strap and a simple face surrounded by silver.

“Cas, you really... didn't have to,” Dean said with a frown as he carefully removed the watch from the box. Castiel shrugged and took the box from him so he could put the watch on his wrist.

“I wanted to,” he explained quietly, “you deserved something nice, and I thought it'd finish off the suit.” Dean looked at him for a moment before focusing on fastening the strap of the watch. It fit well and suited him. “Consider it an early Christmas present.”

“It's... really nice.” He inspected the watch on his wrist and then smiled, looking up at Castiel. “Thank you.”

Castiel returned the smile and put the box for the watch back in its bag. “Okay, we better get going. Oh.” He held up a finger quickly before disappearing into his bedroom again. He found the handkerchiefs for their front breast pockets and returned to Dean with them. “Here,” he muttered as he folded the handkerchief and tucked it into Dean's pocket.

When they were both ready, they headed out into the cold night air. It was only 7pm but it was freezing and the snow was falling heavily. The ball started at 8pm. Castiel was glad of the Impaa's comfortable seats and warmth as Dean eased her away from the sidewalk and started the careful drive to the hotel where the ball was being held.

It was a bit of a tense ride. Something in the air felt hot and heavy and neither of them seemed to want to address it. Castiel sat pressed up against his door, looking out at the snow covered streets as they drove. Dean was quiet, tapping his fingers away to the song that was on the tape player. Castiel had already gathered that Dean had a limited selection of classic rock tapes that he rotated around.

They arrived at the hotel just in time, finding a space to park on the block and carefully making their way on the icy sidewalk to the front of the building. There were a few people mingling already in the night air, chatting away to each other as they smoked cigarettes or waited for their friends. Castiel saw someone he knew glance over to them as they approached, and didn't fail to notice the slightly judgemental expression.

He pulled Dean to a halt by the arm and looked up at him. “How about a bit of role play?” he muttered quietly, leaning in close to Dean.

“Woah, dude, is now the time to get kinky?” Dean murmured. Castiel squeezed his arm tight, wearing a scowl that would knock Dean down if looks could kill.

“Acting,” he clarified. Dean's smile faltered a little and he glanced over to the group of people. Castiel didn't look too, but from the way a frown crossed onto Dean's face he could tell that one person, at least, was still staring at them.

“Of course, darling,” Dean answered quietly, straightening up and offering the crook of his arm to Castiel. “Shall we?”

They linked arms and made their way towards the front door, sauntering past the group of people without a care. They drew a few stares, a few whispers, but Castiel didn't care. Dean was radiating confidence, taking the lead as they climbed the steps and entered the hotel. It was fancy inside, marble floors and pillars, a grand check in desk that currently had only one staff member behind it, and fancy flourishes in the form of furniture and features like mirrors and paintings.

They followed the directions to the Policeman's Ball, a few paper signs with arrows on them. It took them down a few corridors until they reached a grand hall that had been set up with many round tables with eight seats to a table, a stage for the live band that was just setting up, and a relatively large dance floor. There was a buffet table to one side of the hall and a bar to the other. There weren't many people around, and so Dean and Castiel's entrance didn't go unnoticed. A few heads turned, a few shook in mild disapproval, and a few actually seemed very approving.

Kevin came hurrying over, with a pretty young blonde following him. Castiel felt Dean still and he knew why, it was the barmaid from the club. “Jo?” Dean said in disbelief. The woman was wearing an elegant, light green dress and had her hair styled perfectly.

“Dean,” she laughed, darting in to hug him tightly. Kevin looked a bit confused as his date for the night hugged Castiel's date for the night, but Castiel only grinned and shook his head, before getting pulled into a tight hug himself.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked curiously after prising Jo away from Castiel after seeing the other man wince in pain.

“Oh, I met Kevin a few months ago,” she said with a dismissive wave, “before I worked at the club. I guess we just stayed friends. Nothing's _happening_ here.”

“No, absolutely nothing,” Kevin reiterated, “my mother would kill me.”

They chatted together in their small group a bit longer, Kevin seeming curious about Castiel's partner for the night but not being judgemental or uncomfortable about it. A few others from Vice dropped in to say hello and socialise, but otherwise they were left to their own devices. They took up a table when the band started to play their first set for the night, Dean and Castiel settling close to each other.

Castiel wasn't sure how much of this was acting any more. Dean had his hand rested lightly on Castiel's knee, a small, possessive gesture that was more than a bit curious. They enjoyed the music and the good company for an hour or so until the buffet opened up and Dean went to forage. He brought back two plates, both piled up, and placed one in front of Castiel. “Enjoy,” he said in a muffled voice after shoving half a sandwich in his mouth.

He may have been wearing a nice suit, but that didn't change who Dean was. He was still amusing and a little uncouth, probably the two things Castiel liked the most about him. Castiel was just eating a cold chicken strip, which was delicious, when Kevin nudged him. “I hate to say this... but those guys over there keep staring at you and then... talking,” he murmured under his breath.

Both Dean and Castiel looked in the direction Kevin motioned to. Sure enough, there were a few men and women that quickly looked away when the subject of their judgements looked up. Castiel felt himself heat up a little in his cheeks, looking down to where Dean's hand was squeezing his knee a little tighter. The dancer was silent for a while before abruptly standing from his chair. “Come on,” he said, offering his hand to Castiel.

He took the offered hand curiously, rising to his feet and letting Dean lead him away from the table. He didn't realise what was happening until they were heading in the direction of the dance floor. The band was playing something slow and smooth, and there were only a few other couples on the floor. “Dean, no,” Castiel hissed, but he didn't pull back for fear of making a scene.

“Trust me,” Dean mumbled, leading Castiel to the edge of the dance floor before stopping and turning to him. “You asked me to come tonight to help you feel secure, then you ask me to act like we're a couple, now I'm asking you to do the same here.”

Castiel glanced around uneasily before he felt a warm, steady hand on his waist. Dean moved in closer, almost pressing right up against him. “Trust me,” he repeated in Castiel's ear, sliding his hand down his right arm to take his hand.

They laced their fingers together and Castiel rested his injured arm up against Dean's chest. Standing so close, beginning to rock and move in time to the music, Castiel could feel Dean's warmth radiating from him. He could feel Dean's heart beneath his hand, a slightly rapid beat. He was sure his own heart was beating insanely fast, but he couldn't tell. All he was aware of was Dean's smell, Dean's warmth, Dean's hot breath against his ear.

This was never going to end well. He could feel heat shooting down his spine and pooling in his gut and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Dean's shoulder. His senses were overwhelmed and he felt like he wasn't really there. He couldn't feel the hard stares of his colleagues and he couldn't hear the chatter of the people around the room, all he could feel was Dean's body and all he could hear was the slow tune of the band.

As the first song ended and another began, Castiel dared to rock his head back to look up at his dance partner. “Dean?” The other man hummed in response and looked down at him, a small smile playing on his lips. “Thank you,” Castiel muttered quietly before doing what he had wanted to do for days. He leaned up to plant a soft kiss on Dean's lips.

The other man seemed taken by surprise at first, but he soon kissed back, moving his hand to cradle the back of Castiel's head. It felt like the world had been sucked out from under him. His head span and warmth spread right to his fingers. It felt like he was floating now he could finally let himself go, could finally let himself have what he wanted.

They broke apart after a little while, Dean resting his forehead to Castiel's as he took a deep breath. “I think we should make our excuses,” he said quietly, his breath hot and heavy against Castiel's lips.

“I think I agree.”

It took too long to get to the car, too long to drive home, and too long to get up the stairs of the apartment block. Dean had Castiel pinned to his front door as soon as they reached it, taking the key from Castiel's hand and fumbling to unlock the door as he tried his best to investigate the most of Castiel's mouth as possible.

When the door opened, Castiel almost fell backwards. Dean wrapped an arm around his waist to support him as they managed to get inside the apartment and shut the door behind them. It was then Castiel's turn to pin Dean back, rolling his hips forcefully against the other man's to express the urgency of his arousal as he held Dean secure by his tie. It had been bubbling away since the ball, but now it was boiling and painful. He was met with Dean's own erection, rubbing against him firmly in response as they both kicked off their shoes.

Castiel reluctantly pulled away from Dean so he could lead him towards the bedroom. “Please tell me you're prepared,” Dean said, breathless, as he let Castiel tug him along by his tie.

“I'm gay, Dean, of course I do,” he panted back. He shoved Dean to the bed and straddled his lap as soon as they were in the room. He ignored the twinge from his bullet wound as he easily pushed Dean's jacket from his shoulders. Dean returned the favour as their mouths crashed back together, the kiss deeper and more forceful than before.

They stripped each other of their jackets and ties, Castiel losing his shirt too at some point. He managed to get Dean's shirt unfastened despite the other man sucking a bruise into the skin on his neck.

Castiel was glad when Dean unfastened the belt around his waist and started work on his pants. They felt too tight and he was throbbing painfully. Everything was rushed and breathy, Castiel struggling to get enough air to his lungs as Dean pushed his pants down, along with his briefs, to release his erection. The air was cold against it and he gasped as he bucked forward gently, rubbing against Dean's bare stomach.

He worked his way out of his pants and briefs until he was naked on top of Dean, leaning down to press their lips together again as he reached between them to unfasten Dean's pants. As he did that, he felt a warm hand tease at his ass, separating the cheeks and sending bolts of pleasure up his spine. “The drawer,” he rasped, sitting back to push Dean's pants down and allowing Dean to reach for the bedside drawer and rummage for what they needed.

He managed to find a condom and some lube, leaving them on the bed beside them as he sat up to shrug off his shirt and Castiel managed to remove his pants and underwear. “Turn around,” Dean ordered huskily, patting Castiel's thigh to prompt him to move. He did as he was told, turning himself until he was facing the other way, taking the hint to present himself to the other man.

He felt Dean push himself up and the ghost of his breath against the his ass. He supported himself on his good arm, using his wounded one to reach back and stroke slowly along Dean's erection. He gasped as he felt a slicked up finger at his opening, teasing and rubbing before eventually pressing in slowly.

It had been a long time, probably too long, and he had forgotten just how good that felt. The sensation spread up through his stomach and made him groan loudly. That was just one finger, and he trembled a little in anticipation of more. Dean took his time despite how rushed the foreplay had been. He teased Castiel with one finger first before adding the second to gently scissor him open, pressing in deep until Castiel felt the stab of pleasure in his stomach. All he could manage was a gargled cry as he rocked back to impale himself entirely on Dean's fingers.

The third was soon added, stretching him wide and relaxing the muscles. Dean rubbed and teased gently until Castiel was leaking and almost begging for him to get on with it already. Dean's fingers eventually slipped out of him, leaving him cold and empty, and he heard the foil packet rip open, followed by the cap of the lube bottle. He took the time to catch his breath, feeling the sweat damp and cool on his forehead and back. He was drawn taut, ready to snap already, and they had hardly done anything.

He felt a warm hand on his hip as Dean guided him gently back. Castiel followed the guidance until he felt the blunt end of Dean's erection press up against him, hot and throbbing. He carefully kept going down, Dean guiding himself into Castiel. He was wide, filling him up as he slid inside. Castiel was allowed to go at his own pace, gently bobbing to relax the muscles, until Dean was all the way inside.

It felt amazing. He was full and he could feel Dean inside him, could even feel his pulse. He took a few deep, steadying breaths and rested his bad arm across Dean's lap for a moment. “You okay?” Dean asked quietly, smoothing his hands up Castiel's sides gently. He nodded, carefully sitting up so his back was pressed against Dean's chest.

“Yeah,” he breathed, moving his right hand to grip Dean's at his hip. He started to move slowly, rocking his hips back and forth to get going. He heard Dean moan behind him, felt the small, soft thrusts up against him that pushed the hardness of Dean's arousal against his prostate. Castiel knew he wouldn't last long. It felt too intense, engulfing his senses in every way.

Dean mouthed at his back, pressing kisses up and down his spine, as he bent his legs so he could dig his heels into the bed. The slight change in position allowed him to thrust up against Castiel in quick, shallow movements. It was just what was needed, each little movement pushing shocks through Castiel's veins.

He felt Dean wrap his arms around him, holding him close to his chest as they moved together. One hand slid down to Castiel's erection to stroke him in time and encourage him. “Jesus, Cas,” Dean choked out against his skin, thrusting up harshly into Castiel and making him cry out loudly. “Not gonna... last.”

“Me either,” Castiel managed to say, collapsing forwards as Dean thrust up hard against his prostate again. He started to move his hips more, rising up further and slamming down harder, enjoying the deep, throaty moans that earned him from Dean.

The grip on his erection tightened, the pace quickening, as Castiel rode Dean hard and with little mercy. He was hardly surprised when his balls tightened up and the pressure finally broke, white liquid spilling down onto Dean's legs. He groaned lowly as he came, sitting back hard on Dean's erection, the tip pressing firmly against his prostate. “Fuck,” he whined, “holy fuck.”

Dean stroked him until he was spent and then moved his hands to Castiel's hips. Castiel was confused as he was eased up and off Dean, but then he was being gently flipped over onto his back. Dean was soon on top of him, setting between his legs and resting on his elbows. Their lips finally met again and the kiss was a little softer and more controlled.

Castiel rocked his hips up and hooked his legs around Dean's hips, helping him to ease back in. “Come on,” he breathed, rocking to encourage the other man, “just let go.” He didn't regret those words. Dean braced himself firmly against the mattress and used the angle he had against Castiel to start thrusting hard and fast into him.

He was sure he was going to come again. His eyes rolled back into his head and he gripped at the sheets with his good hand as Dean relentlessly pounded into him, his face buried against Castiel's neck. He tangled his left hand in Dean's hair as the bed shook beneath them. The pleasure was beyond control, making it impossible for Castiel to even think. It didn't take long for Dean to lose his rhythm, his pace stuttering as he gasped and cried out, biting lightly at Castiel's shoulder as he came hard inside him.

They were a hot, sticky mess when it was all over. Dean was covered in Castiel's come and Castiel was sweatier than he ever recalled being. It was hardly elegant, but neither of them seemed to care. “Wow,” Castiel breathed as Dean eased himself out of him and pulled off the condom before collapsing on top of him. They lay there, a tangle of limps and bodies, as their hearts raced and their lungs burned.

At some point, Castiel must have fallen asleep, comfortable under the warmth of Dean's body despite being sticky and generally pretty gross. He woke when he was being moved under the sheets of the bed, his cool skin shielded from the air of the bedroom by the warm fabric. He was vaguely aware that he muttered a 'thank you' before curling up against the warmth of Dean's body again.

He had been wrong. The night had ended great.


	22. Twenty-Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness! Got lots to do!

   Dean woke first as the weak sunlight crept through the curtains. It took him a while to get his bearings, to understand why there was a warm body pressed up against him and why he was in someone else's bed. When he became aware that he was in Castiel's bed, in Castiel's apartment, and it was, indeed, Castiel pressed up against him, he smiled and wrapped his arm a little tighter around the other man.

He was unwilling to move, the warmth of the bed and the quiet perfection of the moment begging not to be broken. He smoothed his hand slowly up Cas' back, fingers trailing over sleep-warmed skin gently. Cas stirred a little, burying his face against Dean's chest and curling up tighter against him. They were both still amazingly naked and Dean's limbs still felt heavy from the exertion the previous night.

“Morning, Cas,” Dean mumbled quietly against Cas' hair, placing a kiss there after.

“I don't do mornings,” came the sleepy reply.

“Me either, but I've got stuff to do,” Dean sighed, letting his hand roam around Cas' back and down his arm. Cas lifted his head to rest his chin on Dean's chest.

“What stuff?” he asked with a small frown, as if Dean absolutely was not allowed to leave and do anything.

“None of your business,” he answered with a smirk, leaning down to press a light kiss to Cas' nose. Cas caught him before he could withdraw too far, pressing their lips together in a soft, warm, lazy kiss.

Dean was almost tempted to just stay in bed, but he head to head out to get things done. He wanted to try to find something for Castiel, to say thank you. It was the least he could do after Cas had been so nice to him. They hadn't known each other long, but something felt different. Dean felt comfortable with Cas like he never had with anyone else. It was a little strange, but it was nice. There weren't many people Dean would lay in bed with the morning after.

Cas reluctantly broke the kiss with a heavy sigh. “I need the bathroom,” he grumbled. Dean untangled himself from the other man and watched as Cas climbed out of bed and complained about the cold on his way to the bathroom. It was the first time Dean had seen Cas naked in daylight and he had to say it was nice to look at. Cas was well-toned and tanned, fit from his job and training. He had a few scars, and another one to come with that bullet wound, but they all made him that bit more unique.

“Want me to sort your bandages?” Dean called as he climbed out of bed and realised he really had nothing much to wear. He went wandering into the lounge to his duffel bag.

“In a minute,” Cas answered. Dean fished out his jeans and a clean pair of underpants, pulling them on quickly before searching for a shirt to wear. He had just found something clean and maybe wearable when Cas reappeared, wearing underpants and a t-shirt but completely lacking pants. “I've lost my pants,” he growled to himself as he scanned the hallway as if they'd be there.

Dean saw his gaze stop when it finally hit his bare torso. Cas stared for a long moment, arms limp at his sides. “What is it?” Dean asked, looking down at his own body. He looked just the same as he always did. It wasn't like Cas hadn't seen him pretty much naked before.

“I just remembered I slept with an erotic dancer,” Cas said quietly, sleepily returning to his pants hunt. Dean watched him, an amused smile on his face, as the other man wandered through his usually immaculate flat, which was now home to a scattering of discarded clothes, looking for something to wear.

Cas appeared from his bedroom five minutes later in a pair of sweatpants, and Dean had found a t-shirt and button-up shirt to wear at last. “Bandages,” Dean said in a simple demand, motioning Cas over to him. He had already got the kit out for it, fresh gauze and bandaging to keep it all clean. Dean was pretty expert in redressing injuries. It had been quite a large part of his life over the years.

Cas sat on the arm of the sofa as Dean pulled on some gloves and carefully took off the old bandages before checking the wound. “You're looking good,” he said quietly, cleaning up any 'ooze' to prevent infection.

“I always look good,” Cas answered dryly. Dean snorted gently and started to wrap Cas' arm back up.

“You don't have to tell me that.”

Dean made sure Cas was comfortable for a while before he headed out. He left him to watch some TV in peace, hoping he wouldn't try to do too much with his injury before he got back. It took him a while to get into town, the roads heavy with shoppers trying to get their last minute presents. The snow had stopped for a while but the sidewalks still looked trecherous.

He made his way to the shop he had taken Cas to, the small antique shop. Missouri greeted him as he entered, not even looking up from her magazine. “I'm not helping you buy presents for anyone, Dean Winchester,” she called from the counter. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Don't worry, I know what I want.” He had seen something a few weeks ago in the jewellery cabinet. It was simple, but he thought it spoke volumes. He searched for it through the glass, eyes scanning the various trinkets until he spotted it tucked into the corner. “Missouri, could you get this out for me?”

He spent what little money he had left on the present, along with an ugly Christmas sweater to keep Cas warm and a bit of wrapping paper. He didn't want to hand Cas some tiny box on Christmas day, he wanted the other man to have something bigger to unwrap, even if it was hideous.

When Dean returned, Cas was just coming out of the bathroom after washing himself as best as he could. It was possibly a little too easy to cradle the back of his head and kiss him, a bit strange how it felt like this could easily be Dean's life and he wouldn't mind at all. He had to admit he enjoyed the way Cas pestered him as he stashed the present, and the way Cas insisted Dean helped him put up a few more decorations. All he had up was a tree, the rest of the apartment looked bland.

It felt like Dean finally belonged somewhere. Cas was so welcoming and warm towards him, loosening up from the stern cop to someone who could laugh at Dean's tinsel 'halos', and continue to wear his halo for the rest of the afternoon despite its itchiness. Dean wasn't entirely sure how someone who was pretty much a stranger could work their way into his heart like that, but it felt like Cas had firmly planted a seed that would grow into something much bigger, and Dean wasn't complaining in the slightest.


	23. Twenty-Third

   Dean quickly learned that Cas didn't enjoy mornings. He woke again with a heavy weight on his chest and knew for sure that he wasn't going anywhere any time soon. They were both warm and comfortable, wrapped up under the comforter in their pyjamas. Cas had been too tired to do anything the night before, still a little wiped from his ordeal and tired from the ball, but Dean had to say he had still enjoyed curling up in bed with the other man and slowly drifting off to sleep.

He let Cas sleep as long as he could before he had to get up to use the bathroom. By the time he returned to the bedroom, Cas was awake and waiting for him. “Morning,” he said quietly, a sleepy smile on his face.

“Morning,” Dean replied as he crawled onto the bed, slipping between Cas and the comforter. He leaned down to press a few light kisses to Cas lips, enjoying how warm and soft they were. “What's the plan today?” he mumbled as he tangled his fingers lightly in Cas' hair, stroking through the dark strands.

“Mm, nothing,” Cas sighed with a smile, “got nothing to do today.”

It was a relief to Dean. He just wanted a day with Cas, without anything going wrong. They lay in bed for quite a while, kissing and investigating each others' bodies. Castiel eventually stopped Dean from going any further with a disgruntled sigh. “I really need a shower,” he grumbled. Dean rested on his elbows above Cas.

“You don't smell that bad,” he said with a cheeky smile, earning himself a light slap to the arm.

“I smell awful. Washing in the sink doesn't work.”

Dean pondered for a moment, running his fingers lightly over the edge of the bandage. “I might have an idea,” he said eventually, pushing himself up from Cas and scrambling out of bed. He ventured into the kitchen and started to search through the drawers, drawing a curious Cas from the bedroom to watch sleepily from the breakfast counter.

“What are you looking for?” he asked as Dean rattled around amongst the cutlery.

“Food bags,” Dean answered simply. Cas sighed and moved around the counter, opening a drawer and pulling out a roll of clear food bags.

“Can I ask why?” he said as he handed Dean the bags. Dean held up a finger to tell him to wait and pulled one of the bags from the roll. He headed to his bag and pulled out a pocket knife and, from deep at the bottom, some heavy duty tape. “And do I wanna know why you have a knife and tape that's strong enough to secure people in your bag?”

“It's good for botching things, like this,” Dean explained as he ran the knife down the sides of the food bag, turning it into one long strip of plastic. He gently grabbed Cas' arm and wrapped the bag over the bandage. “This should stop anything getting in and causing an infection or irritation.” He stuck a strip of tape to the top and the bottom of the bag, all the way around, so it was water tight.

Cas inspected the little invention curiously. “I'm sure you can buy things for this purpose,” he muttered.

“Yeah but we aren't going anywhere today and you need a shower.” Dean threw the knife and tape back into his bag and looked at his work with pride. Cas laughed gently and nodded.

“Alright, then, but I'm still gonna need help. This arm doesn't move so well,” he said with a light tap to his left arm. Dean raised an eyebrow but didn't argue as Cas took his hand and led him towards the bathroom.

Castiel took the lead, stripping Dean of his clothes quickly as the water in the shower warmed up. Dean pressed up close to him, pressing their lips together as he ease Cas' sleep shorts down over his ass. Of course Cas slept without underpants. He carefully eased Cas out of his shirt, and then he was being led towards the shower.

The spray was hot against his skin but it felt good. He was already partially aroused, but there was no sense of rush and Dean decided to take his time. He turned Cas gently before reaching for the shower gel. He squirted a bit onto the palm of his hand and then started to rub the skin on Cas' back gently, lathering it up and enjoying the muscular planes. There were a few white scars across his skin, old wounds that Dean traced with his soapy fingers.

Cas sighed and leaned back against him, allowing Dean to wrap his arms around his waist as they stood under the spray. “Water feels good,” Cas mumbled as he let his head fall back against Dean's shoulder. Dean hummed and pressed a kiss to his neck, rubbing soap across Cas' abdomen slowly. Cas turned in Dean's arms, reaching for the soap bottle to return the favour.

Dean had to say he had never been washed so intimately in his life. There was something about it that felt so special, and Dean knew that he would never be able to replicate that again with anyone else. He enjoyed the way Cas' hands slid over his skin, washing it carefully and mapping every contour of his body, as if Cas were committing it all to memory.

Cas turned Dean around to wash his back, rubbing as if he was massaging gently. It felt glorious and Dean let out a deep, happy sigh as he felt his muscles relax slowly. After a few minutes, he felt Cas' hands slide slowly around onto his stomach, and then lower. The half erection he had had soon hardened as Cas ran his fingers all the way down to Dean's balls to stroke teasingly. Dean groaned lowly, slapping one hand against the tiles to support himself as the teasing sent a bolt of pleasure through his whole body.

The teasing was a promise for more, and Cas certainly provided more. He started to stroke the whole of Dean's length slowly, the suds on his hand making his palm slide smoothly. His grip was firm but not too tight, each gentle tug pulling Dean a little tighter. He felt Cas fingers teasing at his hole too, not pushing in with the lack of lube but still pressing and rubbing. The sensation of Cas' hands combined with the hot water trickling down his spine was incredible, making him moan shamelessly.

With Cas' merciless teasing, it didn't take long for Dean to feel the pleasure starting to pool in his gut. He involuntarily bucked back against Cas, feeling the other man's erection against his ass, as he finally snapped. Cas milked him until he was spent and panting, his legs feeling like jelly. “We aren't done yet,” said a dark voice in is ear. It was almost enough to give him another erection.

They were still damp when they fell on the bed together, their skin sliding as Castiel rutted down against Dean. Their mouths were locked in a deep, hot kiss while Cas reached down between Dean's legs to tease at his entrance again. Dean certainly liked where this was going, his body trembling a little in anticipation. Cas soon flipped him over onto his stomach, and Dean felt a firm hand grip his ass roughly, parting the cheeks as Cas' left hand did the more gentle work of rubbing against the tight ring of muscle.

Cas forced him to keep his cheek pressed down to the bed but pulled his hips up so his ass was in the air. He started to prepare him with slicked up fingers, the penetration making Dean gasp out loudly. He rocked back against Cas' fingers, pushing them all the way in to fill him up. He felt Cas add the second finger, slowly pushing into him and opening him up. He was starting to want something more, hard again and leaking against the comforter.

He only let Cas briefly prepare him with the third finger before he reached for the condom that had been thrown on the bed and shoved it back towards Cas. “Just get on with it,” he croaked out, his throat dry from his groaning. Cas was eager to oblige, withdrawing his fingers from Dean before opening the condom packet and slipping it on. Dean watched from where he was pressed down against the bed, looking down past his own dripping arousal to where Cas was knelt behind him.

He could see the slender erection Cas was sporting, a slight curve to it and not a huge amount of width but enough length to certainly do the job. He arched his back downwards as he watched Cas move on his knees to line up, long fingers wrapping around himself to guide him in. Dean was right about the length, choking out a groan as he felt it slide in slowly. He encouraged Cas to keep going by slowly backing himself towards him until Cas was seated all the way inside him.

He was stuffed full, Cas' heat burning him up from the inside, and it felt incredible. He couldn't help but keep his head turned to watch as Cas started to move, fucking him gently at first to relax his muscles before picking up the pace. As Dean had predicted, he was relentless. His hips snapped back and forth with force and speed, his thighs slapping against Dean's ass with every thrust. All Dean could do was watch past his own legs and grip onto the sheets _hard._

He was sure he was going to black out, Cas being long enough to hit his prostate on nearly every thrust in. He was glad that Cas had made him come beforehand, otherwise he would have been shamefully quick to spill. Cas left him untouched, even slapping his hand away when he went to touch himself, and seemed to have an unlimited stamina.

Dean actually thought his lungs were going to explode when Cas started to pound particularly hard, causing Dean to cry out loudly and claw at the comforter. He heard Cas start to moan louder too, his hands gripping Dean's hips tightly as his pace started to stutter. He finally let Dean stroke himself, and they both probably got a little too loud as Dean moved his hand furiously and Cas gave every last bit of energy he had.

Cas was the first to come, slamming hard into Dean and collapsing across his back with a loud cry. He reached around to push Dean's hand away, those long fingers taking up its place to push Dean towards the edge. Dean muffled his cry into the comforter as he came for the second time that day, harder than the last time.

They both collapsed to the side, Dean avoiding the sticky pool he had just made and Cas gingerly pulling out so he could remove the condom. “Jesus... fuck,” Dean managed to say, his lungs burning and his body heavy.

“That was good,” Cas panted, adjusting his weight from his injured arm.

“That was _great_ ,” Dean corrected.

They didn't move until they had both caught their breath. Dean helped Cas remove the protective plastic from his arm before they both got dressed. They wore comfortable clothes with the full intention of spending the rest of the day lounging on the sofa and doing nothing other than watching TV. Castiel made himself comfortable against Dean's chest as they settled down on the sofa, and Dean was glad of the consistent warmth Cas seemed to provide him, inside and out.


	24. Twenty-Fourth

   Dean was just cooking breakfast for him and Cas when his cell rang. The caller ID said it was Sam, and he frowned a little before answering. “Hello?” He kept an eye on the eggs as he pressed the phone to his ear.

“ _Hey, Dean. How's it going?_ ” Sam sounded a little strained. Dean flipped the bacon he was frying one handed and glanced through to the lounge where Cas was relaxing.

“Pretty good, actually. Got a place to stay for now, with a... with someone.” He heard a small sigh of relief from Sam and prodded the sausages to rotate them.

“ _That's great. Look I uh... I was wondering if we could meet up?_ ” Dean pulled a couple of plates from the cupboard and frowned a little deeper. He had thought that Sam wasn't allowed any contact with him at all.

“Sure, but I thought-”

“ _I told dad I was done,_ ” Sam interrupted, “ _I don't need his support, not that he gives much of it anyway. I told him I was going to see you whether he liked it or not. Turns out he doesn't like it, but that doesn't matter._ ”

Dean sighed and cradled the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he dished up the food. “Alright, I can meet you in a couple of hours. That coffee shop we normally go to,” he said.

“ _Thanks, I'll see you later then._ ”

“Yeah, bye, Sammy.” Dean shoved his phone back into his pocket and finished off the breakfast before taking it through to Cas. He was getting on a little better with his arm now, it didn't hurt so much, so it wasn't a huge problem for him to cut up some sausages and bacon.

As they tucked in, Dean explained to him about the situation with Sam. “I was wondering if uh... if you wanted to go with me, to meet him,” Dean said awkwardly as he poked his fried egg. He could feel Cas' eyes on him, watching him, but didn't look up. He was basically asking Cas to meet his family, as one did with a partner.

“If that's what you want, I'd love to,” Cas answered. Dean glanced up to see a soft smile on his face. Relief and warmth flooded into him and he smiled too, glad yet again to have someone like Cas in his life.

They smartened themselves up and headed out to the coffee shop, finding a nice booth in the corner and placing their orders. They were a little early, and they spent the time in comfortable silence, Cas pressed up against Dean's side with Dean's arm around his shoulders. Their order had just been placed on the table when Sam arrived, spotting them after a quick scan of the tables and making his way over.

“Hey,” he said curiously as he slid into the booth opposite Dean and Cas. Dean grinned and nodded, rubbing Cas' shoulder lightly.

“Hey, sorry I brought someone along, I didn't want to leave him alone.” Dean removed his arm from Cas' shoulder so he could add some sugar to his coffee and stir it in. He heard Cas' snort of disgust beside him.

“I'm perfectly fine on my own,” he muttered. Dean watched as Cas and Sam shook hands, let Sam get the usual flurry of questions out to Cas. What did he do for a living? Why wasn't he allowed home? Wow, he got shot? How? Dean sipped his coffee quietly as he watched them interact. He was glad that Sam seemed to instantly warm to Cas, but he guessed he hadn't expected anything else. Cas was just one of those guys who was so easy to be friends with.

Sam finally stopped talking when his order arrived, and Dean sat forward a little to get his brother's attention. “So, you told the old man to fuck off?” he asked, causing Sam to shake his head a little.

“Not quite in those words, but yeah. I don't need his support any more, got a job and a place to live. What does it matter?”

“He said he'd ruin your career using me,” Dean grumbled, sitting back and letting Cas curl up against his side again. Sam sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Wow, big lawyer guy has a dancer for a brother because of years of abuse, that sounds more like a sob story than a ruining story,” Sam muttered before taking a sip of his coffee.

Dean had to agree. It wasn't really something that would ruin Sam's career so early on if he was open about it. There were a few moments of silence as they all drank their coffee, and then Sam started with the questions again. “So how long have you two known each other?” Cas laughed at that, causing a puzzled look to pass onto Sam's face.

“About three weeks,” Cas answered with a smirk, covering it with his coffee mug.

“Three weeks? You look like you're married,” Sam said in disbelief. It was Dean's turn to laugh then, the very notion of them being like a married couple tickling something. He guessed they had pretty great sex for a married couple.

“I gave old Cas here a private dance, I think he fell in love with me then,” Dean mused jokingly, earning himself a punch to the arm from Cas.

“It's just nice to see you happy, Dean,” Sam said in a more serious tone, “honestly, I can't remember the last time I saw you genuinely happy.”

Dean couldn't remember the last time he _was_ genuinely happy. He had always had something to worry about, a problem to face, but now it felt like he could take anything that was thrown at him. “I just got lucky,” he said quietly, looking at the man that was pressed up against him. Cas smiled up at him and leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. “Very lucky.”

Cas turned his attention back to Sam and sat up a little. “What are your plans for Christmas now?” he asked curiously. Sam shrugged and slumped, sighing.

“I don't know... I don't really have anywhere to go now.”

“You could come to mine, both of you could. I have some family coming around, and... you can invite people too if you want,” Cas said enthusiastically. Dean smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of Cas' head.

“I don't know about Sam, but I'd love that,” he murmured.

“I'd love it too,” Sam agreed, his face breaking out into a grin.

They spent a little longer chatting over coffee before Sam had to leave to sort some things out at home. He pulled Cas up before they left, ordering Dean to wait outside for a moment as they talked. Dean was curious to know what they were talking about but he left them to it, waiting outside until Cas joined him. “What was that about?” he asked curiously.

“A present,” Cas answered simply. Dean wasn't sure if that helped or just made him more frustrated. They said their goodbyes to Sam before heading back to the car to get some food in for the next day. They had a lot to prepare now, but Dean was excited for it. It would be his first real Christmas for a long time.


End file.
